Rediscovery: Book 1 First Traces
by Pyroken Serafoculus
Summary: When Decessus, dictator of the New Orre union, finds a lead to power beyond his wildest dreams, he is alone in his purpose but not in his hunt. With the webs of multiple powerful wills in his path, it is all any mortal can do to avoid being ensnared.
1. Prologue

Author's Note: Second of my works, this is a Fantasy fiction visibly more experienced than the Upholder of Duty. It takes place in an entirely new region called New Orre, though I haven't added any fakemon; the places, however, and entirely fanmade. There are still several problems with this (mainly purple prose), but it is perhaps more readable, content-wise, than my very first work.

This fiction is divided into the traditional trilogy, and this exact story is only the first book (as the title should make apparent). Thus, while Rediscovery's Book 1: First Traces is complete, the Rediscovery story has still two more books before it concludes (as the last chapter should make apparent).

Disclaimer: Believe me, I make no money out of ripping Pokèmon canon into some random, unrelated storyline. If life were that easy, I would't be hanging in seedy internet back-alleys and eating cardboard. leer

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Rediscovery

Book I: First Traces

Prologue

The orange streaks of the departing sun danced across an open meadow, mixing shadow and highlight - and everything in between – into an artful display of fertility and radiance. A lone tree stood proudly amongst the swaying blades of green and saffron; its branches held nature's bounty in all their beauty, open for all to enjoy. A shallow stream trickled quietly amongst the abodes and businesses of the grassland's many residents, selflessly quenching the thirst of any who required its assistance. The rustling of the leaves, the gentle trickling of the stream's current, the warm glow bathing all in its splendor; few could have remained restless in such serenity.

Amidst it all was a complex pathway dug into a regal mountain of green, around which several creatures enjoyed the beauty of life. Long, serpentine raccoons darted through the grass with the greatest of grace and speed, with lengthwise stripes of russet trailing through the bright beige of their fur. Their claws were great but nimble; two dikes of fur on their heads could pick up the slightest sound. Greatest of all, however, was their sense of smell, enhanced by the spheroids of black which served as their noses.

Among them, with less grace but more vigour, zigzagged many smaller creatures, these predominantly browner in colour. The fur on their diminutive bodies was layered horizontally into alternating, zigzagging outgrowths, and they sported black visors of fur upon a jovial face.

It was unfortunate that the play of the Linoone and Zigzagoon would have to be so short-lived.

Out of the distant horizon came a silhouette of a figure, riding on the thermals of the desolation beyond. Its shadow fell like an infection, feeding upon all that is innocent, delighting to corrupt virgin land. A resounding cry rang out, speaking of deathly pale disease. It was shrill and metallic, and it seemed to seep into the hearts of all who heard it, freezing them in their tracks. Any living creature would have instantly understood that there was no cry more terrible that this in all of creation.

As the death-bird came nearer, all of the Pokèmon around the mountain began to file into their sanctuary by unspoken order. Gone was the joy, gone was their reveling; only terror was left in the creatures now.

The creature came to rest on a wide platform atop the mountain, and its dazzling features became distinct. Cold, reptilian eyes shot out from a mask of a face, constructed out of two overlapping plates of steel. Three elongated, crimson scales protruded from either side of its metal torso, topped by a larger, silver plate; this accursed contraption seemed to serve as its wings. Its tail was pockmarked by a single, circular scar; its avian legs were capped with cruel talons, perfectly suited to rip apart flesh and crush bone.

The Skarmory spoke. His voice was cheerless and emotionless; it only held contempt for the world and all its children.

"Takyos," he spat, "come out and face me. Or have you lost the last remnants of your self-dignity? You seem to have taken to hiding behind your pathetic brood like a wizened old fool."

At this, slowly but surely, a Linoone emerged from the tunnel leading downwards. Old scars ran deep across his body, and his limbs held the weight of countless years, but his gait was steady and his voice was sure.

"And you, _Skarmory_," Takyos replied, taking care to speak the word 'Skarmory' in the most scathing manner possible, "have sunk no lesser. I believed I would die before I should hear the great Scourge of Steel resort to childish taunts."

Takyos' affronter ignored the remark. "Ah, I see we are no longer on a first-name basis. How tragic. Tell me, how long will it be until we stop lingering in small talk and get to business?"

The Linoone instantly stiffened, as the Skarmory nodded in approval. Takyos was always uncomfortable in such matters as they were about to discuss.

"If you truly believe, Skarmory, that we would simply hand it to you, you truly are becoming senile. Go back to your accursed land! We have nothing for you."

"I always knew you had lost your mind. The Gem of Power! A catalyst of unimaginable supremacy, enough to extend your reach beyond even the Great Sea! Your people know exactly where it lies, but for some inconceivable reason, none of you have ever attempted to find it. I have never seen stupidity as astronomical as this."

The Linoone's answer was yet again predictable. "You have no idea what you are saying. This much power in the hands of a mortal… It will only lead to the world's demise. You would be simply corrupted at first, but slowly, inevitably, you would be forced to commit horrendous tasks, against your will. A shell, Skarmory! You would merely be an empty shell, forced to carry out the order of that which you sought. Even you could not imagine a life like this."

"Impossible. How can a vessel of my own will trap me? In any case, all of your stratagems and machinations are over, Takyos. I have a lead, and I will follow it to the end. The Gem will be mine! The world shall see my power, and despair!"

Storm clouds gathered, shadowing the world in a dreary veil. Swaying blades of grass became tentacles of death, grim and thick with darkness. Ragged threads of light streaked from the sky, illuminating all with an unnatural light before sinking into the blackness from whence it came. The illusion of serenity was forever broken; paradise was irretrievably lost in one blinding moment, as all the hope and contentment of the last remnants melted away.

Takyos seemed to fall into himself before the death-bird, and he was finally revealed for what he was: an old, defeated man, ultimately swept away by the tides of time. The pride of the Linoone was inexorably brought down to its knees as its perpetrator reveled in his triumph, and the last remaining traces of morality were soon to collapse.

This was the end.

"Goodbye, Linoone!" the Skarmory said, shouting above the roar of the maelstrom around them. He took one bounding leap, landed on the very edge, and zoomed upwards in a triumphant corckscrew.

Takyos walked over to where the Skarmory had jumped. A depressed red button contrasted among the rocky precipice.

Somewhere, Takyos heard a beep.

"Dear God."

In an instant, the mountain cave was engulfed within a murderous inferno, racing up to the heavens with the deadly tentacles of its cyan flame. The center of the commotion began to spread outwards across the grassland, feeding upon life, converting every conceivable shadow of beauty into a wasteland of infernal flame. The horizon which had once linked fertile land to majestic sky was now the fine line between fire and rain, meeting the fiercest bowels of hell with the greatest wrath of heaven.

And through it all, the Skarmory dived in crazy swirls, a recreant demon come to rain its wrath down on earth.

One moment he was a god of flame, and in the next instant, he was nothing but a distant shade amidst wrathful darkness, zooming off to the bloated, drowning sun.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: One should be able to see the essence of several factors which make up my style, and linger on through one-shots and fictions for years, here: bloated description, massive, explosive battles, the beginnings of creative formatting and altered states of consciousness, and (most clearly) mediocre dialogue. (Ah, and also corrupt characters of unrealistically exotic species.) Rejoice!

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Rediscovery

Book 1: First Traces

Chapter 1

A looming mountain stood up against a bloody sky, its gaping mouth thick with smoke. Morbid views provoked the viewers' imagination; all around the shattered dagger of flame, only desolation could be seen. The volcano stuck out of what had once obviously been a desert, but it had now gone beyond wasteland and could be only described as a very branch of hell. Black, craggy outgrowths fed upon the lakes of industrial effluent, smoking with the same toxicity as their grisly fodder. The hardiest organisms had already vanished from the infection, and disease had fed upon disease, eliminating each other. Yet one's attention was drawn irresistibly to the dark, fiery doom amidst it all, leaking magma in silent slobbers. Among the pillars of smoke which it vomited out, two of the only signs of life circled each other.

One was a whirlwind of cold steel, the perfect literal embodiment of death in flight. It glided and dove, cutting through the smoky haze in deathly silent spirals, spelling certain death for all who came in its path. Its steely blades danced a macabre dance, spinning all around it, stirring the air into a cyclone of razor wind. Through all its swift violence, however, subtlety was not lost upon the cold figure: no sound of rippling air could be detected; not an air of movement emanated from his wraithlike profile. Before him glided something completely different. It was a serpentine figure, radiating an ethereal glow which allowed its full appearance to be displayed through the smog. A single horn protruded out of a dragonlike head, flanked by two feathered embodiments of the wind itself. Underneath the subtle snout was a cobalt orb, which seemed to glow as if from another world. Its long, graceful tail was topped with a combination of two more such orbs as those beneath the head; it gave off the same cyan radiance as the shades of the entire body seemed to symbolize. The two creatures cut corkscrews around each other, varying their paths rhythmically in a frenetic death dance, calculating as they searched for their opening. The two came to a final rest at either end of the volcano's rim.

A sudden zephyr blew back the smoke.

"Decessus."

"Pegasus."

"We meet again."

In an instant, the Skarmory and Dragonair fell upon each other, as, behind them, a blazing wall of flame roared up from its fiery depths. The fighters were enveloped in a lethal womb, trapped beneath a dome of lava which hungered for their fiery demise, but they took no notice of it as deadly talon met otherworldly flame. This was no poor man's brawl; few physical offenses ever hit their mark. At a level such as this, tactics were fundamental. The opponents converged and diverged, meeting together with a clash of metal before backing yet again to the crimson-saffron wall behind them.

Decessus' metallic wits had not dulled any more that his razor blades, and he instantly understood the gravity of the situation. Keeping a rhythm while battling was one of the most perilous experiments, as the first one to break the rhythm would be at a gross advantage. He also knew, however, that this very fact was not lost on Pegasus, who had already come on his guard, increasing his agility and bracing for impact at the same time. He positioned the blades on his crimson wings for attack as blatantly as possible, deliberately blowing his façade, as he continued his rhythm, and saw to his satisfaction that Pegasus immediately noted this.

He zoomed yet again to their meeting point, determined, as Pegasus began erecting barriers before him in anticipation. Decessus would require speed for this, and thus, he agitated the atoms within his body, elevating himself to a new plane of time, and as he raised his claw, time itself seemed to slow down. The death-bird stretched his blade as far as he could manage, seeing Pegasus' eyes darken in expectancy, and he brought it down with all his might, a supersonic apparition of acute reality. His wing-blade whipped through the air, farther and farther down…

Nanoseconds before it reached Pegasus, a flash of smoke enveloped it, and Decessus was gone.

Even sooner, a blade of cold death split Pegasus' unprotected back.

The Umbreon's feint. It was an ancient trick which the Skarmory had learnt long ago, and it was rather simplistic, unless one could twist it to his advantage. Decessus had done the same, but he was nevertheless mildly surprised at Pegasus' foolishness. He had been known to commit such mistakes before, there was no doubt of that. Yet Decessus could not shake the feeling of faint foreboding.

With unspoken order, the two began to circle each other, pausing at strategic intervals for a fraction of a second, until it seemed to any viewer that there were, in fact, eight fighters, not two, by a trick of persistent vision. Yet this was no trick; in less than a minute, there were now four wavering copies of each opponent, none sporting any form of identifying mark. This battle was being fought with (as the more technical may say) high risk, high return.

As each copy of Decessus flew after a Pegasus duplicate, a ghostly mist began to descend into every nook and cranny of the chamber, bright golden and fiery beyond compare. It burnt into hide and poisoned the blood; it penetrated every barrier in its frantic efforts at causing as much damage as possible. The dragonfire did not come in vain; three Skarmory copies had already begun to lose their opacity, and, as they dug their illusory talons into their respective counterparts, all three pairs shook violently and burst into a million wisps of frail smoke.

The fourth Decessus, however, had endured more than that, and, repelling the fire, instantly begin to shoot a multitude of five-pointed stars, impacting unavoidably with Pegasus' midriff and leaving angry red marks where they fell. The dragonbreath instantly dispersed, its source momentarily incapacitated.

Decessus wasted no moment; he rushed to Pegasus and tore at his sensitive skin with a frantic succession of slashes, throwing caution to the winds. Every gash he opened elicited a horrible cry from the Dragonair, but Decessus took no notice of the streaks of crimson staining his flawless steel blades or the pathetic vulnerability in which he had left himself. He was wrapped in the thrill of battle, quenching a blood thirst more feral than anything yet seen, and he had never felt a feeling more acutely satisfying. The Skarmory was fiery death incarnate; he was enveloped in an inferno of pure feeling; consequence and worry had evaporated like a storm cloud in a windy sky, and what matter was it that his opponent had begun glowing intense crimson…?

Before he could register reality, the Skamory was ruthlessly blown away like a rag doll. His head began swimming, his vision blurry, and every vein in his body filled with such pain as he had never felt before. As he struggled to resume reality, an intense cyan light blinded him, and he was forced to close his eyes yet again. His very mind screamed in protest as he forced it to work; but finally he regained mental focus, if not physical control.

The rage of a dragon, as he would (_the pain_) have instantly seen had he maintained his guard, was no (_please just let me die and escape this fire_) child's play, but this had been a very unusual case. Pegasus had (_this agony is too much_) evidently released his fury in a massive inferno, as dragons were apt to do, and he had no choice but to hover in the greatest fire storm in history, enduring beyond endurance an unbearable agony.

At last, it ended, releasing Decessus, who plunged twenty feet into the volcano's core and his own exhaustion before overcoming his fatigue.

The Skarmory charged at his opponent in restless determination, as the Dragonair opened his mouth in a feral snarl, reddish flame licking at the back of his throat; but before the first shreds of panic could dawn on Decessus' face, the radiation from Pegasus' cyan orbs flickered, and the dragon's grace faltered, forcing him to swoop uncontrollably down before zooming in chaotic, disoriented swirls. Pegasus' flames misfired; his weak attempts at offense came down upon him, confusing him even more. After such events, as Decessus was glad to see, a dragon would unfailingly lose his wits for some time. It seemed to be that the Skarmory's opponent had placed the fate of the entire battle upon his rampage. How… foolish.

Decessus shot more luminous stars at the pitiable dragon, watching lazily as they tossed Pegasus about like a cloth. His logical self stared in disbelief; Decessus, the Razor Wit, was playing with his opponent, leaving room for error. What had the world come to?

_What is the worst that could happen?_ he asked himself, fully reassured by the wretch before him, flailing hopelessly about. Yet, despite his efforts, there was something wrong. As Decessus turned lax, lowering his guard, some primordial alarm seemed to go off inside his head; he simply hovered there, his confidence descending into doubt, deepening into discomfort and even _terror_, as the silence stretched on…

Within an instant, the writhing serpent became a flash of white light, burying itself into the tiny gap between two of Decessus' scales, knocking the breath out of him.

Pegasus had performed the Swellow's Dart, the greatest maneuver ever managed by a wind rider, and despite those kinds of moves being ineffective to his type, Decessus was literally blown away by the impact. Perhaps it had been the hours of training which Pegasus had done in his private quarters – how Decessus knew of this was beyond most – or the element of utter surprise he had gained and handled so well, which had given him such power. In any case, the battle would not last long now – Decessus would make sure of it.

Decessus spread apart his wings, releasing millions of tiny shards of metal which embedded themselves into Pegasus' body; great spheres of flame shot out at deadly speed, whipping through the air like a thousand lethal will-o-wisps; cold fury clashed with infernal wrath in a fearsome death match, as pillars of fire and razors of steel ripped through the air with not a shred of order. Every miniscule falter was taken advantage of, and every movement had a purpose. Discord was no longer a looming fear; it had come, and it would end only with demise. And through it all, molten lava roared up all around them with increasing ferocity, making a perfect arc before landing on the opposite side, caging them within an altering dome –

Suddenly, an impossible idea struck Decessus' mind. It was such a task – and yet, if he managed it, the outcome would be swift and complete…

Finally, he was decided. Erecting barriers around himself, he harnessed the power of his element, and made the necessary alterations within the metal traces in the lava above them. Gathering nuggets of molten steel, Decessus began to remotely form an impenetrable formation, oblivious to the confusion around him. A minor twist here, and another there… and finally he was done. Every fibre of his being thrumming with excitement, he placed his creation precisely where it was needed –

A great pillar of lava diverted from its course and fell upon Pegasus, moving faster than light to meet its prey. Before anything could be registered, the dome was filled with miasmas of oddly milky smog, blinding Decessus. Odd cyan lights seemed to flare out from all around him, placing him in utter confusion. He could yet hear a great struggle ensuing somewhere, and, finally, it was silent.

As the mist cleared, Decessus saw a sight which he had never seen before. All around him, droplets of cold, lucid _water_ were pouring from seemingly nowhere, rushing to their doom in the lava chamber below. The rain seemed to be thinning, but the job was done.

The dome of roaring flame above them had become a hemisphere of red-hot rock, and the pillar assaulting Pegasus had mimicked the dome. There was confused silence for a few moments, and then, with a resounding BOOM, the pillar blew apart, revealing a shaken but unharmed Pegasus.

Of course! How could he have forgotten? A Dragonair's greatest strength was his mastery of the weather. Pegasus' cobalt orbs had instinctively done something which even Decessus could not have conceived.

Pegasus turned to Decessus. He seemed prepared to commit a great maneuver, but the silence seemed to stretch on, as Decessus' fears seemed to do the same. What was it that he would see? He knew it was dangerous to intervene.

A low hum resounded across the acoustic dome, multiplying and amplifying, until it seemed to be a many-headed entity, looming up just out of sight, yet seeming all the more dangerous all the same. Decessus felt pure adrenaline flood his veins like liquid flame, as he rose up in anticipation and dread; suddenly –

- a low thud wracked the volcano, as Pegasus' figure shook violently, every atom threatening to destabilize in an awe-inspiring explosion; Decessus understood instantly, effecting his countermeasures.

THUD.

A wavering, invisible thread of shadow wound itself around the two opponents, a mournful dirge speaking of loss and despair and cold-hearted vengeance, stretching across space and time and the very boundaries of mortality –

THUD.

More threads complemented this, guiding it, controlling it, weaving a requiem symphony which bound the two inextricably together…

THUD.

A final strand secured the connection, a slithering abyss of pure, hateful shadow, trapping Pegasus like a spider traps its prey –

BOOM.

Decessus felt an irresistible tug, and, as Pegasus flew like a zooming arrow around their volatile battlefield, he was pulled along, past the shattered pillar of stone, through the lava tunnel, through the faint pop of the sonic boom, into the acidic air outside the volcano and back in through another spidery duct, into a dreamlike doom spiral around their prison, and, as Pegasus halted, exhausted, Decessus slammed into his fatigued body, binding him in the despairing chains of shadow which had pulled them together, delivering a blow more terrible than any his wings could have given –

Decessus glided triumphantly as his opponent's lifeless body fell into the lava chamber, swallowed by fiery death.

His vision began to waver; out of the corner of his eye, objects began to lose colour and even shape, and then suddenly –

- He was standing, winded but thoroughly exhilarated, in a navy blue room, the excited face of a Persian looking in from the only Plexiglas window to his right. As Decessus exited the Virtual Reality room, the Persian spoke. The tone was unmistakably female, but it had some deepness and boldness in it.

"Congratulations, sir! As far as we know, you'll be ready to fight him the next time you face your rival."

"Thank you, Ardis," said Decessus; "I see that our technicians have loaded the creativity engines. I certainly did not expect VR Pegasus' last trick."

"Oh, yes," Ardis replied, stroking her long whiskers pleasantly, as if Decessus had given her a personal compliment. "This will most likely be the first of many enhancements to come. By the way, sir, are you sure you want to keep the pain processors on? It looked pretty nasty out ther - "

But Decessus' eyes flashed dangerously, and Ardis quickly stopped. She wasn't foolish.

"I do not fear pain, Ardis, I am sure you've understood that. I sent a team of Sableye to search for the Gem in the desert of Narkesa. How are tidings?"

"Well, sir, they haven't reported yet, but I'll contact them."

Ardis pawed up the metallic floor to a chrome fixture attached to the wall, her curved tail raised high behind her. The ruby-red charm on her forehead glowed briefly, and a few buttons depressed themselves, initiating a hologram in the middle of the large room walled with monitors and control panels. A very odd creature appeared, dark purple, with literal diamond eyes. He spoke in a sneaky, underhand voice.

"Hey, boss," the Sableye said, his pointed, double ears twitching, "what's up?"

"Do you have any leads?" Decessus asked, emotionless as always, though he burned with anticipation inside.

His Cheshire grin widened, until it threatened to rip apart his wide, pointed face. "Oh, you won't believe me when I tell you, that's how big it is. Yes, sir, we have a lead!

"You see, the moment we got here, we knew there was something here. It's the kind of thing only a Sableye can sniff out, you know what I mean?"

"Yes, I understand that foul creatures like you have your equally foul means. Continue."

The Sableye's maniacal grin slid off his face, then came back on, just as quickly. "Well, sir, we found what seems to be a whole mine of diamonds! Sparkling, fully cut gems, as far as the eye can see! And we _can_ see pretty far, mind you – but anyway, in the very middle, there was a great big emerald with something written on it."

"What was it?" Decessus said sharply, his patience failing.

"It was really small, and it was written in some other language, far as we know, but the symbols were legible. Still, the amount of bother we had, trying to figure out what it said – "

"What was it?" Decessus repeated, a bit louder.

"Well, it was apparently a poem. We got the first words: _Earcken libris verita_ or something like that. No idea whether it's the secret of the universe or some yarn about a Trickster with a bag of bones. Well, I'll leave you two masterminds to figure it out. Later, boss!"

And at that, the hologram vanished, leaving the room to sink into silence.

"Proven shall be the worth of the seeker," Ardis translated, her voice a perfect contrast of their visitor.


	3. Chapter 2

Rediscovery

Book 1: First Traces

Chapter 2

I have seen the passing of eons, the rise and fall of empires, the birth of a thousand species and the apocalypse of a million, but nothing has diverted my mind from the sudden grief of that hated moment, or dulled the cruel blade of anguish which stabbed into my very soul as I saw my lovingly nurtured flame of fertility extinguished with the force of a single people. Every surrounding memory seems to be a haze, a pointless dream without meaning or thought; a useless consolation of ordinariness around a scar of unmistakable unreality. I remember my recuperation after the fiasco at the Forest, in the timeless land of my people. I remember explaining the others of my kin, yet again, of my discoveries with the very heart of the Lesser people; how they may commit terrible mistakes, and yet, their spirit could be truer than even ours. I can still recall my exact words.

"You cannot base your notion of a people by your first impression alone, Enyil, we have long known this. My human captor was, in fact, one of the vilest criminals of their race. I have seen, however, that within their cynical façade, a pure being lies deep inside. They can be a great people, Enyil, they wish to be. They lack only the light to show them the way. Our vanity has blinded us from the truth long enough, and it is high time we overcome our ego, lest it prove our doom. If only you had seen the bravery of those three humans and their Pikachu companion… I can never lose faith in any of those beings, now that I have seen purity, without adulteration or cover. Given a chance to grow and a guiding hand, they may become something greater than even us. Let me be the hand. Allow me some millennia. If I fail even then, you may restrict me however you wish."

Those words had meant so much to me. It was my life's work, to transcend their unremarkable exterior and touch the catalyst of radiance which lay within them. Alas, if I had prepared myself for the harshest of my tribulations in the way to this goal… My delight at the others' reluctant agreement has faded to indifference over time, and my teleportation into the Lesser realm, usually a great personal favourite of mine, means nothing to me now; it has, perhaps, melded with the tattered remains of my hope and deliberation. It seems manifold more likely, of course, that it has simply lost its charm like a twinkling star behind a dreary cloud, eclipsed by its neighbour's magnitude. And thus, everything before it seemed to pass as a dream.

The visit itself, however, can only be described with one word: _lucid_.

I had checked the many corners of time yet again, to see to it that all was well, but I had never readied myself for the worst, optimistic as I was. I remember confirming the safety of my newfound Lesser friends, verifying the status of some of my dearest oaken creations (and inadvertently causing it to overflow with bounty by my sheer joy); I even remember my thoughts as I traversed space and time to the enigmatic land of New Orre, which had begun to shed its desert exterior and don newer, more fertile apparel.

It was my pride and joy, a budding rose which gave promise of unfurling in full bloom. It lay northwest of Orre itself, and possessed a few points of interest which had once been Orre's, particularly the lush forest-island which humans referred to as Agate. New Orre had been mainly unexplored by humans, which had allowed the few resident Pokèmon to take what was rightfully theirs; they had even created a collective society with organization rivaling human government.

The principle difference between human systems and their own administration, however, was the balance of power; their fledgling country consisted of an all-powerful, albeit well chosen, government, and it was a mark of my own hypocritical vanity that I did not recall the famous words: _Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?_ Who will guard the guards?

The leader had resigned, overcome by age, and had chosen an ambitious young Skarmory as his successor, claiming, as I did so often, that he had seen the first strokes of greatness within the avian. I had worried little; these shifts of power happened often with mortal organizations, yet I knew myself of the streaks of potential corruption within his future greatness. Why had I neglected my duty, why had I failed to secure the future of this wildcard, before his destiny was inerasably recorded within the books of time?

I can still recall how I thought of my future labours; how I would lovingly care for these new, impressionable creatures, how I would look back at my sufferings, once my 'pupils', so to speak, were well on their way to greatness, and laugh. Could I have detected even the first foreboding traces of disaster, as I brought about the reactions necessary for me to fast-forward to a century after the initial decision? I had already begun to sense certain foreshadows as I calmed the vortex of viridian around me, my portal back into the lands of material. Vague shades of darker green around me; brief moments of complete lack of color, as if my very senses were failing, like broken-down specimens of human machinery. Even the sense of innocent joy, supported by the life which had been radiating from all around me moments before, seemed to waver, far from death, but alarmingly weak all the same.

I twirled my feeler-like antennae, bathing myself in a bluish glow, but despite my subconscious efforts to dull what I knew was inevitable, my journey was ending. A flash of pure white; a falling mist, engulfing me, flaring in density before clearing at unnatural speed –

_Darkness._

A scene of utter desolation lay before me, poisoning its way into the very confines of my soul, diseased beyond recognition and repulsive beyond tolerance. I fell upon my knees before this abomination, devastated, and all my toil, all my ambitions of greatness, every single one of my hopes and dreams, seemed to be washed away with the overcoming winds of time, which I had worked so hard to control. Deadly, crackling threads of lightning whipped through the air, roaring out from their murky confines; great maelstroms of deadly wind converged and spiraled in chaotic structures, capable of leveling the greatest mountains; all around me, terrible embodiments of my uncontrollable wrath and sorrow rampaged freely, but I took no notice of them, enveloped in an agonizing cocoon of devastation. I let out my fury to the cold, unfeeling heavens, as a fearsome blast radius roared out from all around me, ravaging the remains of the low canyon in which I hovered; I noticed, with cold indifference, that my detonation had left not destruction, but life in its wake – nothing could have eased the shocked sorrow of that moment.

In a blur of crazed emotion, every feeling, every experience, every moment of crushing defeat and uplifting victory in my life, flashed before my eyes; I reflected how I had been infuriated, slandered, anguished in every way possible, but I had always forgiven, I had always hung on to the path of victory –

And it hit me, in one, blinding moment.

What was I doing, wallowing in my self-proclaimed defeat like the darker shades of the Lesser folk? I had a responsibility to manage; my very life's work was laid out before me, and I was not improving the situation by moaning excessively of my devastation. This was nothing but a challenge, another hurdle which I had to face on my treacherous path – I would be insulting my very cause if I neglected my duty any further.

Resolved, I rose from my place.

I had a challenge to overcome.

Although few knew of its presence, the Intelligence Sector was one of the most important buildings in Ceroka, the realm of Decessus. Consisting of multiple steel and concrete steps, each acting as a floor, it was the finest example of Pokèmon architecture, with a heavy influence of modern Human corporate construction. A gargantuan strip of cadmium selenide gold rested upon a platform on the very top, capable of picking up the tiniest strains of electromagnetic radiation in which Psychic telepathy operated. Underneath it rested the Heralding Gem, a priceless ruby which translated the radiation into intelligible speech, guarded ceaselessly by every sort of sentry. To most, the building was an impressive sight; to some, it was much more, and to a few exceptions, it was just some random building that they had to guard for God-knows-what reason. Two examples of which were chatting lazily as they surveyed the long desert fields around the Sector, attempting to gauge the walking distance between their current resting place and the tall skyscrapers which constituted the other Sectors.

The two were almost identical, apart from a slight difference in size; they both seemed to wear golden masks, from whose single, strip-like visors, two red, glowing eyes flashed out, albeit rather more dully than they had apparently meant to be. Two pairs of insect wings sprouted out, one primary and one secondary, from a raised base at the top of the back, which was again outlined and decorated with gold. Their bodies were ovoid, like those of airborne insects, and coloured dull black, though with a decidedly faint sheen. Two short, stubby horns protruded from the gold-plated head; two insect arms came out from under the head, seemingly as purposeless as the horns.

The two Ninjask made an odd scene, their appearance depicting speed and sharpness; their mannerisms betraying the very opposite.

"Hey, Fen," the smaller droned in a high-pitched, whiny voice, "How long do you reckon we're going to have to guard this dumb place, anyways?"

"_Hey, Fong,_" mocked the other, managing to perfectly imitate Fong despite his efforts at exaggerating, "_How long do you reckon I'll be stuck with this idiot who just can't shut his trap?_"

"Sorry," was the reply. He paused for an immeasurably brief period of time, then added, "It's quite a distance, innit? From here to that Serfocton place?"

"Ah, but we're Duo No. 600, Fong, always remember that," Fen answered wisely. "And it's Serafoculaton. What, you didn't really think we'd actually _die_ when we nearly got sliced in half, did you? That would be even more idiotic than you usually are." Fen seemed pleased with himself, having had an opportunity to sound really smart, though he had donned a look of feigned annoyance.

"Oh, yeah, 'cause we're actually Shedinja who look like Ninjask. I almost forgot."

Fen sighed, fully exasperated, and said, "Our point is to walk the doomed earth, spreading chaos and mayhem and stuff like that. Personally, I'd take death for you any day, but seeing as we're both somehow immortal, we just have to work together and serve whichever evil force is reigning at the current point of time. And stop obsessing over random things, we've got a job to do! Anyone could have passed by here while your gigantic piehole refused to shut!"

"Sorry," he repeated. He paused for an immeasurably brief period of time, then added, for the fiftieth time, "It's quite a distance, innit? From here to that Serfocton place?"

"Idiot, how long will it take for you to notice that great big… whatchamacallit right in front of us?"

Surely enough, a very strange figure had appeared before them. It seemed to be constituted of the very shadow around it, and it slinked in the darker shades of its surroundings, neither liquid nor gas, but simply the absence of light. It had no form; none of the conscious senses could even begin to measure it, but somehow, its existence was as apparent as a creature of flesh and blood.

It spoke to them now, a voice of darkness, though with an unmistakable hint of maniacal humour.

"And what may you fine gentlemen be doing at this time of day?"

Fong was, as always, the first to speak. "We're guarding, see? That means this place is off-limits, sorry!"

His voice held such absolute density that Fen would have slapped his forehead if he could have reached it.

"Can't you shut up for two seconds, Fong?" he reprimanded, then said to the creature in what he hoped was an intimidating voice, "You're not allowed to enter; this is prohibited ground! So don't even think of trespassing, or else… or else – or else…"

"Or else _what_, precisely?" the creature said, bemused.

"Well, it won't be very good for you!" Fen finished lamely.

"I see. Well, seeing as I can't even hope to overcome the two of you – " he acquired a tragic pose at this point, and held it for precisely the required amount of time, "I'll have to initiate Plan B."

Fen and Fong tensed visibly at this point.

"You see," he continued, "I've found that if I stand precisely at 45.5791 degrees North, and 34.9075 degrees South, like so – "

And his form dissipated, reappearing two feet away from them –

"A massive, low-lying thermal will begin to rise, taking – "

The shadow solidified, taking the form of a gigantic Pigeot –

"– yours truly – "

The Pigeot unfurled his wings magnificently,

"– well on the path of victory."

He began to rise, wings still outstretched, like an actor in a glorious play; as he rose further and further, the silence seemed to stretch on, threatening to break –

The Pidgeot flapped its wings, creating a gigantic sandstorm, and as he flapped upwards, the stasis was shattered; Fen and Fong broke out of their trance, and the peace which had permeated everything was now disordered chaos. A thousand golden stars whipped through the air; great desert entities joined the mad dance of the sand and the Pigeot amongst it all; shooting five-pointed stars every which way he could, Fen attempted to shout above the mayhem.

"Why did you even come here? Why did you even show yourself to us?"

"Oh, just to tell you -"

The stars were nearly upon him now –

_"I don't exist."_

As the stars assaulted him, his form exploded, strands of poisonous smoke bounding out from his nonexistent figure.

Precisely five minutes later, the Heralding Gem was gone, and in its place, in the tongue of the Order of Shapeshifters, a single message was scrawled.

"Fear the darkling shades of power, for they have come, and will end in only your demise."


	4. Chapter 3

Rediscovery

Book 1: First Traces

Chapter 3

"Forty perimeter guards," Decessus stormed, pacing agitatedly across the stretch of sand in front of the Narkesa cave, "Forty perimeter guards, six dozen Psychic Barriers, twenty Murkrow sentry, hypersensitive infrared sensors on the interior and exterior of every floor, and it was all breached by a Ditto using elementary Ninjask trickery?"

"It was not a Ditto, sir;" Ardis replied, keeping up with her manager, "as I have already indicated, eyewitness guards claim it looked nothing like a Ditto – "

"And who are the nitwit guards who completely missed the shallow disguise? I'll have them fired this instant – "

"Please, sir, we can work around this for the time being," Ardis cut in, slightly desperate to calm Decessus. "Resident Alakazam can take the place of the Gem for now, and we can make do with the staff we have now – "

"Of course we can work around this, a five-year-old could manage that, but I demand an answer! Who is this thief? _What_ is he? How skilled is he to elude Cerokan security with such apparent ease? How do we eliminate him? He obviously bided his time for this very moment, when I would be far from home; send word to halt all other intelligence processes until this creature is found."

Decessus was apparently reverting back to his usual efficiency, and thus, Ardis gave a subtly relieved affirmation, and disappeared into the mammoth cavern behind them.

The Skarmory, having quenched his anger, proceeded to do the same, under the objective of deciphering more of the intriguing emerald which his Sableye had happened upon.

It had become apparent, from Decessus' first entry within the cavern, that the leader of the expedition could not have made more of an understatement. The cave seemed to have been full of gems in roughly the same quality and quantity which the Sableye had described; the floor seemed to be so full of gems that, at many points, they made a rough carpet over which passerby were forced to traverse, and gigantic gems seemed to make unnatural (and, at points, supernatural) formations which were unmistakably handmade. However, the general idea which had been transferred to Decessus' mind concerning the main emerald could not have been more off the mark.

The emerald in question was, in fact, the very back wall of the cavern, placed in an enormous alcove which could barely be detected. It took the shape of a gargantuan uprising of water, twisting and forking within itself to make an intricate, undecipherable pattern. Glittering, sapphire Vaporeon twisted gracefully throughout the elaborate system of pillars, painted with such breathtaking skill that they seemed to visibly jump out at the viewer; a single, beautifully serpentine Milotic wound its way along the hidden paths, calming the mind with its very appearance. Partially obscured behind the cobwebs of frozen, viridian water, the threads of emerald formed the letters of a calligraphy written in the very inner tongue of the Alakazam. It was not written to be very clear or easy to decipher, and thus it had taken Decessus and Ardis the efforts of an entire day to translate the "inscription", so to speak, into the Common speech, but finally, they had the rough, ineloquent translation of what was very obviously a riddle.

"Tread cautiously down this ancient path,  
For though the target well repays,  
Deadly dangers wait to show their wrath;  
The worth of the seeker they must appraise.  
A message must well be conveyed:  
Once started, this task cannot be eschewed;  
Your work will never be betrayed –  
Or else death none can elude."

Decessus and Ardis had long trained themselves against fear, but these words unfailingly elicited an involuntary shudder from all who read them.

"Your noteworthy diligence has been tested,  
And so has been your wit;  
Yet more lies behind triumph crested.  
Valor and power together are knit:  
To brave rougher seas in the yonder  
Is to gain power south of east;  
And though you must never come to flounder,  
Those around you certainly will, at least."

The entire riddle was intriguing, to say the least, but the last four lines seemed to be the most absorbing. They had obviously come due to a metaphorical purpose, but Decessus' intuition indicated something else, possibly geographical. For this reason, a large, detailed map of New Orre had been placed directly before the emerald, along with the translated result.

It was blatantly obvious that the riddle was referring to a sea or ocean; Decessus had also assumed, with moderate surety, that this certain sea lay to the desert's southeast. He had spent the majority of his stay, therefore, on analyzing the eastern half of the Great Water – whoever had named the ocean deserved to be shot – he had also listed the possible maritime locations for reference.

"Myst Cave," he muttered, reading out the name of a colony of Vaporeon, one of the locations which lay within the Water; "Wailord Bay -" an encircled body of water, whose residents were obvious both by their abode's name and by their own appearance, "Cove of Imperia;" an area named for what lay inside it, according to speculations, before it was discovered that it housed a gigantic community of Magikarp, and "Fishnet Shore," a Human location, and one which invoked no particular interest. At this point, he stopped, contemplating the locations which he had read.

Wailord Bay, which could have accommodated any number of hidden formations, seemed to be the most likely lead, but no region of the inlet held any particular association with the word 'flounder'. Decessus made to analyze the rest of his leads, but a sudden thought halted him. Could it be –?

But, at that very point, a Sableye shrieked, and Ardis' voice rang out.

"We have company – six Silica warriors, twelve o'clock!"

"What? This region has been untouched for centuries!"

Decessus flew outside to the cool night air, fire rushing through his mercury veins; brandishing gigantic glass clubs, half a dozen great Marowak leered out at him, bleached skulls contrasting against the deep blue behind them. In an instant, the Skarmory and the Persian fell upon their opponents; deadly shards of lethal glass flew through the air in chaotic spirals, slashing indiscriminately; cold, metal spikes joined the fray, as their creator lunged at his own target, blades flashing. Beside him was the summit of lethal elegance – Ardis bounded across the battlefield, erecting barriers around herself, slashing away with her deadly claws as she fell two warriors with one fearsome swipe.

Decessus and Ardis fought valiantly, but soon there was no alternative – they were outnumbered; with a great lunge, the partners-in-war broke off from the battle, rushing into the cave.

Inside there was a decided air of ordered chaos; though the panic in the air was palpable, a dull silence abounded, waiting to be shattered any moment. Finally –

- the outer wall fissured and cracked, and, with a resounding boom, six identical holes were driven into solid rock; Decessus darted to the newly formed windows, shooting rapid projectiles before ducking from a corresponding assault. Guerrilla warfare suited the Skarmory well, due to his efficient agility, but he was beginning to tire, and he was even hit once with his slowing reflexes. Where was Ardis? Decessus shot a quick glance behind him, and what he saw nearly disoriented him.

A cloud of smoke was thickening in the middle of the cavern, exuding tendrils of sulfur fume which twisted and spun to form odd, mystical figures and shapes. The tendrils began to constrict; for a single moment, Decessus almost recognized the form, and then, before he could grasp it, the entire cloud collapsed to form what seemed to be shadow incarnate.

"I suppose you were looking for me?" it said, oblivious to the commotion around it.

"Who are you?" Ardis demanded, but Decessus understood immediately.

Dodging a wayward club, the Skarmory spoke. "Yes, we were, in fact. What is your business in my kingdom?"

"Oh, actually, I see that this is a bit of a bad time," he said, correctly analyzing the situation. "Should I wait a while? You see," – a million glass shards streaked through him harmlessly – "I'm not in much of a hurry."

The remaining Silica warriors had apparently combined their efforts, and were using some sort of battering ram to besiege the rapidly crumbling wall. Swearing, Decessus jumped back to the forefront, Ardis close behind.

Their visitor glided over to them, supremely unconcerned.

"Have you been out on the streets much, lately?" he asked casually, unperturbed by the jagged boulder which embedded itself in the ground beside him. "The locals aren't too happy with the desolation that you keep putting in their homes. Someone should do something, they think. Well, they seek, and they receive!"

"You are a rebel?" Decessus ejaculated, narrowly missing a falling rock. He fired two carefully aimed spikes, watching as they embedded themselves perfectly in the respective warriors' throats.

"I was wondering when you would realize. I was only a child -" his maniacal humour fell like a stone, exposing bitter anger –"when some of [Iyour[/I men brutally murdered my parents. I was admitted into a covert Order, taught secrets which had never been seen by an outsider before; and now here I am, defiled, corrupted, deformed beyond recognition, but resolute in my duty."

He quickly reverted to his usual manner. "Ah, but I see your little tussle is already ending." And surely enough, only one Marowak remained of the militia which had besieged them.

With a single leap, Decessus knocked the warrior on his back and held a blade to his throat. "On whose orders did you come?"

"I d-don't know!" the Silica soldier stuttered, at which Decessus' blade twitched threateningly.

"I refuse to believe it," the Skarmory snarled. "Answer me, and I promise you will never feel pain again."

"All right! M-M-Merciful lord, it was our general, Kartet." He gulped, shooting an apprehensive look at the cold metal at his throat. "Except – except he looked… darker… than usual. This is all I know, I swear!"

"I see." And, in one fluid movement, Decessus brought his talon down on the Marowak's prone neck; he spluttered, vomiting blood, and then fell limp.

"Do you feel any pain?" he whispered to his victim's dead body. "I think not."

The Skarmory walked back to the refuge, his job done.

The shadow-creature awaited Decessus at the cave's mouth, not disturbed in the least.

"Well, I'll be seeing you; it seems you have quite a lot on your plate. Oh, by the way – " he nodded towards the riddle which had been abandoned long ago – "Pathetic creatures, aren't they, Magikarp? All they do is splash around. Or, if you want to be eloquent, _flounder._"

And, at that note, he vanished in a flash of amethyst smoke.

Falling to the ground in lazy spirals was an outdated picture card. It displayed the picture of a young, innocent seedling, branching out in a determined fashion. It seemed to be in search of something great, adventurous and young and unfettered by the constraints of age. Its legend was written in ornate calligraphy, displaying the word 'Growth'. As a cool breeze swept the cave, the card flipped over, exposing a message written in the same manner as that in place of the Heralding Gem.

_Know this, that despite the purest innocence of youth, all paths lead to the way of corruption, and its end is a bitter end indeed._

_- Yours Truly, Carek, Order of the Shapeshifters, First Echelon_


	5. Chapter 4

Rediscovery

Book I: First Traces

Chapter 4

An overcast sky leered out at Decessus as he skated the heavens above the Great Water, unfitting in every way – yet, perhaps, more similar to his surroundings than ever in his life. Iron-grey storm clouds hovered all around him like so many grim faces, as thunderous war-bugles played their rumbling notes, foreshadows of the proverbial (was it literal?) storm after the calm. Yet Decessus knew beforehand that these were empty threats; the only true storm lay far south of him, a continuous tempest of infinitely tall waves and impassable hailstorms which blocked exploration efforts beyond the sea.

The logical connection which Decessus had been trying so long to make, regarding the riddle, was instantly constructed when Carek had said the word "flounder". His skepticism on the willingness of a known enemy to share such a secret was instantly quieted by his excitement and anticipation; for the first time in his life, he made no move to suppress the wave of feelings which had welled up before the invincible floodgates of his mind: he felt thrill, he felt pride; as he let the feelings pass, for once, unrepressed, unanalyzed, he had the distinct impression, for a millisecond, that he could sense fear…

What was the matter with him? With a deep breath, he calmed his emotions, giving his analytical mind the subject of his destination to contemplate, and, thus, allowing it to rise above his many dangerous selves. He knew precisely where to go; being a colony of Magikarp, those who flounder, the Cove of Imperia was the most inconspicuous place to hide the secret of the universe, and was therefore the perfect storehouse of natural power, waiting to be invoked by one with a deserving wit, or, at least, rewarding sources of information. It was an underwater cavern, devoid of all but some meager air-pockets; a certain Ludicolo had planned to meet Decessus at a miniscule island roughly above the cave. He had numerous men willing to do his work, but the Skarmory had always despised dependence on all but some select, reliable accomplices. He had decided to fly the entire way to the Cove singly due to this reason, though Ardis was Teleporting the distance, and he would have plunged into the icy grey waters encompassing his destination himself had he possessed the skill of amphibians.

It was rather odd that Carek had decided to assist the very one which had condemned him to his life. However much he racked his mind, only feeble theories came up to explain this; perhaps Carek was leading him to some more accessible position, but, no, that could not be correct – no living creature would find such a place more accessible than the very heart of Ceroka or Narkesa…

An earsplitting screech rang out all around him; stumbling, Decessus looked down to the strangest sight he had ever seen. Amidst the water below him, a gargantuan dike was beginning to form, a shapeless mass of liquid which threatened to rise above the tallest mountains and cover the world in its shadow. It swelled and rose with unnatural speed, and before Decessus could register anything but confusion, an enormous wall of water had formed in his way. The Skarmory swerved, flying almost vertically upwards at his greatest speed, but to no avail; it was nearing him, it was about to swat him like a cumbersome fly –

He braced himself, but no crushing wave of ice came upon him; as he looked around, Decessus saw that, once again, everything was perfectly normal.

The Skarmory continued to fly, shaken, but completely unhurt. As he swooped aimlessly, his mind racing, the cutting wind began to pick up speed, defying his wildest expectancies. He could not control it; as he hurtled through the air, pure panic filled his senses, and the dormant clouds sprung into life, as if they could sense the utter fear emanating from his figure and took it as a cue. A dreadful rumbling rose up all around him, and threads of luminescent light zipped from cloud to cloud, narrowly missing their captive; the zephyrs of deadly steel began gathering and spiraling around him in a mad dance of anticipation –

The greatest hurricane in all of creation burst into life, entombing Decessus in its eye.

He had not been brought here merely to be destroyed; what business, then, did this wrathful Titan of destruction have with a mortal like him? But he did not have far to look; all around him, wisps of silvery smoke were rising and formulating into characters in an epic play, dancing and interweaving among each other with an energy which Decessus had never understood; before he could bring himself to even perceive, let alone comprehend this symphony, everything became calm.

_[IIt was a dream, Decessus knew it was; everything before him went by in a haze, like an old, withered memory, and his mind seemed to grab upon irrelevant details and release them, allowing them to pass out of memory, fickle as a disdainful immortal. His vision was strangely blurred, and the happenings around him were distorted beyond recognition, but, with difficulty, he managed to infer that he lay in the middle of some sort of laboratory or hospital, surrounded by unidentifiable blurs. An intense light flared up in his vision, and, as he closed his eyes, blinded, pure white overtook him._

_Decessus seemed to be observing the progress of a curving, twisting black line. As he gazed, mesmerized, the line wound its way upwards, gracefully forking in two, branching out in dizzying shapes and patterns. The line began to spread out in three dimensions, and as it formed its many figures, its progress seemed to mark the trail of a thousand symbols, irreproducible and inexplicable, yet purer than anything Decessus had seen before. As the last strands slowed their progress, Decessus looked out and viewed it for what it truly was._

_Yggdrasil. The tree of the spiritual universe._

_He wanted to examine this, to learn more of this power which he had never known, this deeper universe beyond the realm of mortals, but as he edged closer in eager curiosity, the graceful lines began to lose their elegance, splitting and fraying into a thousand jagged splinters. Decessus tried desperately to remember what he had seen, to imprint this forever in his memory, but it was falling away; the only recollection he had of the dream tree's former glory was its existence. What he had now, in fact, was one of the foulest things he had ever seen; it was like a gnarled, thorny stump, but he knew instantly that it carried some sort of infection, some defiling contamination, which made its very sight revolting. Its crisscrossing, skeleton branches weaved a fetid net around him, blocking his vision, taunting him with feeble impressions of light. Suddenly, they retreated._

_An enormous piece of glass engulfed his vision, reflective beyond explanation, so that nothing behind it could be seen. Its reflection, however, seemed obvious enough; it reminded Decessus, partially, of Takyos' abode, bathed in its rosy glow. On any other occasion, he would have instantly taken this as wasted land, unused for more profitable industrial pursuits; at this moment, however, despite himself, he appreciated it for its beauty alone. Little happened at first, save the tiny flicks of the wildflowers under the lazy breeze, but, as he looked closer, tiny cracks were appearing; he suddenly realized that he didn't want the mirror to break, he didn't want to see what was behind it, but it was too late, the glass shattered…_

_A scene of utter desolation lay before him, and had he never seen something remotely like this, Decessus would have kneeled down at the spot. A dark valley overshadowed its own innards, containing mounds of putrid waste and pillars of noxious smoke, reminiscent of the wastelands surrounding the volcano in his Virtual Reality. An embodiment of the very shadow around him stalked the cracked earth, and, wherever its form touched the ground, an infection seemed to spread outwards, darker, even, than the badlands which it tainted. Suddenly, a blinding beam of golden light split the center of the creature's formless form, permeating its very essence, and it spread outwards, forging waves of beautiful fertility, replacing acrid smoke with clean breeze, fractured earth with lush grass, toxic sludge with cool lake water. It seemed, in that glorious moment, that all the demons of the wastelands were rooted out and purged, and all the evils were forever vanquished, forced to die out or take forms which could never do harm again._

_A voice spoke within him, a kindly, fatherly voice which Decessus had heard long ago, a voice which instantly brought comfort to every restless part of his mind. It was the only voice of simplicity among the metaphors and the complications, and it was the only to speak the simple truth._

"You have seen much today, young one, and there is no doubt that you desire all of it. But there are no shortcuts in the way of life; you must toil for enlightenment, for it is a difficult path indeed, but it alone shall give you what you long for."

South of the many government Sectors of Ceroka lay a long, spread-out desert, devoid of water in even trace amounts, like most of the regions. It was not a topographically exciting land, consisting purely of constantly shifting sand dunes, but a large network of canyons had been dug out long ago by a currently extinct river, inconspicuous only by its remoteness. Even this fresh relief from the monotony of relatively flat sand was not terribly intriguing; it was a canyon, nothing more than that, and held not even a sight to please the eyes. It was, however, complex, and one incompetent of the power of flight could easily be lost within the twisting tunnels. Rumor had it that Decessus himself occasionally visited this attraction as a training ground, for many complex tactics could be made in such a maze, but Cerokan rumors were never famous for their reliability, in any case. Greater beings generally regarded this landmark with diplomatic distaste.

It was a wonder, therefore, that something of great consequence occurred here, of all places. At exactly mid-noon, a flash of fire burst out from the topmost turret of the sandstone castle, and a creature of the most extraordinary regality graced the unworthy ground. A fine-boned snout was raised in the air, supported by a head containing a pair of fiery saffron eyes. A long, jagged mane curved downwards from between its two raised ears; nine majestic tails billowed in the desert air, protruding from a canine torso. A brilliant gold suffused the figure of this queenly vixen, glowing spectacularly in the sun.

The very earth would have to make way.

Queen Tryst had arrived.

The Ninetales paced the ground impatiently, apparently in irritated wait of something which was obviously below her. She did not have to wait long; in a few minutes, a sinister cloud formulated before her, and a familiar figure appeared.

"You're late."

Carek the Zangoose tested his violet claws, at the utmost ease. "A Shapeshifter in neither too late nor too early; he arrives precisely when he is needed." He looked up. "Did you forget?"

"For that matter, a Shapeshifter is always true to his disguise. Zangoose habitually stay on all fours. Did you forget?"

"What, did you think I was actually trying to trick you? I follow protocol only as long as it makes sense. Don't flatter yourself."

"You realize that I am fully capable of cursing whoever I wish? I am this close to doing it." Her eyes flashed dangerously. "If you do not stop beating around the bush, I will."

"Ooh, I'm so scared," Carek said sardonically, holding a hand to his ginger scar. "Have you made the arrangements?"

"Of course I have. I still do not understand why this joke of a Skarmory is so notorious."

"What planet do you come from, lady?" For the first time in the conversation, Carek showed actual surprise.

"As a matter of fact, I come from the human realm of Kanto." She gave an odd glance at Carek, as if daring him to laugh.

He did.

"Human!" he teased, fully rubbing it in. "Really? What would your human masters think if they saw you like this? Those sages, who, erm, _created_ you?"

Tryst showed no visible signs of anger, though her tails tensed considerably. "That is human nonsense, Carek, and you know it. Should I curse you now? You would be quite free of it by the end of the next millennium."

"No, I think I'll settle for getting to business. Your job now is to give Decessus as much trouble as possible. Just don't give him anything long-lasting. And keep reminding him of the state of his kingdom."

The Ninetales took this all in, unquestioning. "And what will you be doing?"

"That's a secret left to me."

"I, need I remind you, am a collaborator, not a servant. If, for one second, I see that you are keeping secrets from me, I must say that the deal is off."

"All right, all right, keep your mane on. While you're busy maintaining the offense from the outside, I'll be weakening ties inside Decessus' government, sending him certain subliminal messages, attacking him from the inside. If we work in coordination, he should crumble in exactly the way I want."

"I see."

There was a brief silence, in which the two conspirers contemplated their work. Then:

"I still can't get over the fact that you actually _mixed with humans!_"

"Don't be an idiot, Carek, I lived in a forest far from any human. They were too busy telling each other how a giant three-headed monster resided in the woods."

"Yes, but still…"

Tryst turned away, mulling over the distant sun. "Humans are actually not as frail as you consider them to be."

"Oh, really?" Carek's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

She ignored the comment, and said slowly, "I have seen, in fact, that some of their weapons are extraordinarily EFFECTIVE!"

She wheeled around, and, in an explosion of fire, a dozen silver daggers burst out from all around her, whizzing lethally out to the Zangoose' prone form; twelve golden broadswords formulated out of thin air and parried the daggers, dissolving into the desert air as quickly as they came.

"Dance of the Zangoose. Elementary. So much so, in fact, that I'm seriously beginning to doubt your intelligence. Did you really think a human dagger would defeat one of us?"

Suddenly, the broadswords reappeared and assaulted the Ninetales; she responded with her own rapiers, but only Zangoose themselves knew the skill of sword fighting; Carek soon had her pinned against a wall.

"I don't trust you," he said. "But I suppose the plan can't go on without you. Anyways, the incentive is enough to have you on my side for as long as I want. If something happens to me, I won't be able to do my side of the deal. That alone should effectively stop you from any homicidal thoughts."

Carek's broadswords instantly disappeared.

"Remember, Tryst," he said, saluting, "if you comply, the rewards are great. If you don't, well, you'll have to see for yourself. You're not the only one who can lay a curse."

And, with that, he disappeared in a cloud of smoke.


	6. Chapter 5

Rediscovery

Book I: First Traces

Chapter 4

A draft of icy wind once flowed from the frigid reaches of the Mountains of Caraya, a souvenir of the epic wrath of those peaks of mottled ice. Its purpose was to temper the fiery wrath of southern lands, and bring ordered chaos to the otherwise disorganized system which pervaded the most of the New Orre deserts. Now, after decades of tampering and tainting, nothing of the old stream remained, save bursts of erratic wind, swathing the molten gold in a layer of deadly silver. It was only one such current which survived to witness what happened one day.

Though order was a term as alien to the lands as their preexisting current was to most, this blood-red morning seemed to be seeing unusual chaos as it carried out its deadly processes. A hollow breeze rattled the shades of long-dead foliage, nearly engulfing the newcomer as it swirled around in chilly arcs. Out in the distance, the remnants of a strange explosion beneath a low-lying canyon were quickly dying out, devoid of their necessities. The tortured heavens above collided with themselves in increasing frequency, opening evanescent shafts of scorching sunlight, and creating unnatural contrasts between cold and fiery death. Suddenly, the local breeze picked up speed, shaking off the Carayan current.

Something was about to happen; every particle of the soil, every haunting remnant of life could feel it. The current put up a burst of speed, curiosity trapping it in its treacherous reaches, and, as it bounded over a sheer cliff, a most disturbing sight lay before it.

No mortal could have sensed the tension of the moment as a million ghostly figures assembled on the deathly valley, invisible to the ignorant. It was the preparation of an epic war, a deciding battle which would change the universe forever. An amalgam of razor zephyrs whizzed like throwing stars, honing their invisible blades as they hurtled through fields of impossible flame, hungering for prey, barely giving way to a massive tsunami of awakened might, capable of crushing mortal pride like a helpless fly, matched only by a desert of russet determination. Everything was infused with an energy, an urge to return in full fury, and bring vengeance upon the vile. It was an organism unto itself, the most perfect creature ever formulated.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and there had never been a greater woman in all of creation.

A misstep, and the current was engulfed in the frenzy, animated by the same maelstrom of feeling which drove its siblings to such heights. A thousand emotions and thoughts stabbed it from every side, and it simply hung there, threatening to fall into nothingness, before order came to it once more. This time, however, there was a difference: it was animate. The scene around it seemed to flicker, and pure, indignant fury filled its very fibre, giving it direction which it understood not. Every particle of its debatable existence hungered for vengeance; every action it did would bring about its persecutor's demise. Nothing would stand in its way.

The army began to move.

_Where are my lush pastures?_

"So, a storm hit the western sector?" a voice inquired.

"Yeah, it did," was the reply. "'Cept, you couldn't really call it a storm, could you? More like a massacre. And the wind itself was like a knife. You wouldn't believe it, but it actually _shredded_ those poor souls into bits."

_Where is my tender beauty?_

"General, the entire south coast encountered a freak hurricane," reported a Furret. "Waves reached up to 120 feet. We estimate the death toll to be around one thousand."

"What is this force?"

Only silence followed.

_Why is there poison in my veins and smog in my lungs?_

"It's completely illogical," a Magnemite blurted out. "How could there be fire in open desert? We even checked the traces of effluent around the area. There's absolutely nothing there which could have made such a horrible firestorm."

"Maybe it's not supposed to be logical," replied a Trapinch. "Maybe there's some other force at work here."

_They have meddled in my processes for long enough._

"That place is always getting shaken up, you know. The Tyranitar just won't stop. But this earthquake was much more than just a Tyranitar. Did you know the shock waves caused two-storey ripples? And that was here, at least sixty miles from the epicenter."

_They will pay._

A wisp of shadow flitted slyly through the canyons, its plan in effect.

"… You're late, sir. What kept you?" It was Ardis. Ardis…. his Senior Secretary and partner-in-war…

"I – what?" Decessus stammered, caught off guard as he attempted to return to earth.

Success. "I was late? I don't recall a hitch in the journey…"

"Really? That's odd. You arrived almost an hour later than you said you would."

Decessus turned, contemplating the distant horizon from their meeting place, a tiny island-desert in the middle of nowhere. Behind him, a Ludicolo gave a nervous tap-dance (cultural influence, perhaps?), uncharacteristically solemn as his gaudy leaf sombrero assaulted the branches of a lone, stunted little palm tree.

It was disturbing that he had arrived late, flying at optimal speed, and possessed no memory of it. In fact, as he looked back, the entire journey was unusually hazy, as if it was a rapidly disappearing dream. It hinted at memory modification, time disorientation, even spacetime warp. He was sure that the Triangle of Berda, the mysterious rift in the fabric of the universe, lay many thousands of miles away, and none of its repercussions had ever came so far – the only explanation for this, albeit disconcerting, was a third party.

"Look," blurted the Ludicolo, abruptly halting his tap-dance, "I didn't come all the way here for nothing, you know, I still… think… hope… we could…"

His voice trailed away at the look Decessus gave him, but the Skarmory conceded nevertheless, at which the Ludicolo turned to the sea, his movements even more subdued.

It was odd, Decessus thought, as he boarded the bubble of everlasting air which the Ludicolo had hastily conjured, odd that he could be so hollow and lacking in feeling when he had felt such an unmistakable rush of thought so soon ago. And yet, even as he recalled the hazy wisps of thought left after the journey (deluge?), it was not as if he was remembering the events himself, but drawing them from another mind, as if he was another Pokèmon, if only for the short span of time between the Narkesa shore and the island where he disembarked. He had never seen nor heard of anything like this in all his experience in war and espionage.

The bubble drifted slowly down into the iron blue murk, and an entirely different world lit up before their eyes.

Decessus could see now why anyone would have mistaken the Cove for the lair of a magnificent creature. Rising up starkly from the muddy ground, the unmistakable figure of a royal Ninetales sat amidst the weed, a mane of fireweed trailing in the soft current as it regarded its newcomers with sharp, intelligent eyes. Its features were dulled from age, but the cavern was still a spectacular sight, though Decessus wondered why the maker of such a fine sculpture had decided to make it at the bottom of the ocean. He took note of this as the bubble descended to a small entrance at the side; anything out of the ordinary was bound to be a clue to the riddle that awaited the Skarmory, deep within the confines of this web of tunnels.

The tunnels inside were jagged and roughly hewn, the dark stone riddled with algae. They were nothing spectacular, rather insignificant in contrast to the figure they formed, but they were nothing like their pathetic residents, flopping about in the water, clumsy even in their element. The three newcomers hung back for a while, unsure, before a Magikarp approached them directly.

"Mr. Decessus and Mrs.… Ard – Adra – Ardis, is it?" he stammered, half out of excitement at meeting the very ruler of his realm. "Come with me, I'll show you the interesting part of this place."

And on they went through a constant drone of tunnels, the Magikarp leading the way for the motley assembly. It was impossible to see how a matrix such as this could ever have kept a secret hidden, not when every tunnel and compartment and cavern was exactly the same and anyone but the Magikarp themselves could find their way through. Finally, however, they came to a relief from the scenery: a gigantic dome with nothing but a gigantic pedestal in the centre.

"The pedestal has what we think is writing on it," the Magikarp explained, "but no one ever managed to decipher it, really." (_I would never have guessed,_ Decessus thought privately.) "I'll just leave you two to take care of it." And without another word, he was gone.

Moving forward, Decessus studied the pedestal. "It is not a very obscure script, is it?" he mused.

"No, it isn't," Ardis agreed, separating her bubble from the rest to walk over to the other side. "I think it was designed so that the only creatures that ever bothered to look at it were the only creatures with no way of reading it."

"True. The chances of Pokèmon such as us coming here are next to none."

"'With new hope and faith, aim for the sky in the centre.' That's what the pedestal says. What would that mean?"

"It sounds very familiar." Decessus began to pace around, racking his brain for memories of the sentence. "Wait… Ah, yes. I remember a book I had once read, detailing the author's experience with the three Regis. One of the caves entombing the titans contained a phrase very similar to this."

"Looks like someone threw originality to the winds. Well, we seem to have an unfair advantage, don't we?"

"The worst is yet to come, of course. The top of this cavern most likely leads to another set of more difficult puzzles."

"Right." Ardis peered apprehensively up to the ceiling, and Decessus mimicked her. The roof seemed solid and unyielding, but the Skarmory knew what he had to do.

"Ludicolo, position us in the middle of this cavern and swim upwards, as fast as you can."

"What, are you nuts?" the Ludicolo, blurted out. "That is solid rock up there. We'll get pulverized if we hit it."

"Do as I say," Decessus said calmly.

"But – "

"Do as I say," he repeated, absoluteness in his voice now.

"Fine, but I'm leaving the bubble, then. I'll move your bubble from a safe distance."

The Skarmory agreed, and the Ludicolo moved out of their refuge, remotely joining Decessus and Ardis' bubbles with his hands. He readied himself, and the bubble began to rise.

Faster… faster… the ground beneath them began to descend rapidly as they whizzed upwards, shooting more swiftly with each passing second. They were nearing the top… they were almost there... there was no time to stop now… Ardis braced herself, and even the Ludicolo winced, looking away… if they failed now, everything Decessus had toiled for would be lost forever –

The rock above them gave way the second they hit it, and they entered a dazzling glow, blinded completely after the gloom of the Cove. The light began to fade gradually, and looming figures appeared, blurred beyond recognition and startlingly sharp at the same instant. The shapes suddenly blasted into motion, and the two companions were disoriented in the midst of a frantic dance of shades, no meaning or order to their madcap profile.

Decesssus closed his eyes, and a series of visions possessed him. An infection spreading across the surface of clear blue water, a bolt of lightning striking the top of a callous tower of steel, thorns crumbling to dust and floating away from their stem…

Astonishing, frigid clarity returned to the two.


	7. Chapter 6

Rediscovery

Book I: First Traces

Chapter 6

Decessus paced the length of the roomy headquarters, brooding upon the fine marble-work twisting through the walls. It depicted a great serpent, a twisting coil of deathly elegance and unearthly speed. This relief had always enthralled him, but today he was looking past it, digging for answers within its hollow beauty. He longed for the days before the war, when the entire of his region was coexistent, undivided; he remembered his days as a fledgling when all the world was his playground, and friendships could be made with a single word, invincible even before the grim jaws of death. Decessus had only recently taken the noble task of governing his nation, but already civil war had gripped the region, setting brother upon brother, shattering peace like a crystal sculpture.

What was he to do? He had long trained himself for self-defense - precautionary measures for all hopeful leaders - but never had he set his blade upon a living creature without crushing regret. The Skarmory had always suffered this shortcoming, and saw much criticism because of it. He was too soft. How did he think of governing the land? He must rule with an iron fist, or he would see his end soon.

His eyes slowly cast around the room, his eyes burning holes in the delicate tapestries adorning the marble walls, as if he could force the curtains covering the doors to open and present a solution to him. As he swiveled around, he paused at the briefing table, not out of jubilation at seeing victory in his futile quest, but due to a strange sort of horrendous despair that strenghtened the more he gazed, his eyes fixed upon reminders of his task, salt over his wounds. He was pulled irresistably to the matters of the realm.

Since before his appointment as leader, a certain part of the region, a desert of war-hungry Marowak, had begun to crawl with unrest. Their technology was such that they were ready to leave their fosraken island and face the world which they hated and feared, if only to expand their control. Warring of any kind was looked down in Decessus' peaceful region, but some would always be outside the law, and the kingdom could do nothing about it - there was little need to waste resources on little disputes, as they would always harmlessly skirt the edges of society, legal or not. How Decessus would have wished for the truth to remain so.

Within a year, like a ripple spreading across the face of a once-calm pond, the disquiet extended its dark tentacles to near one-fourth of the entire region, the concept having roused many. Why should they live like common men when they easily had the power, or dedication, or skill, to rule a kingdom of their own? The foundations of the code of peace were noble, but not all understood them: some, like the Narks, simply wished to flex their limbs, while among others rose dreams of ambition and power which could not be quieted by simple words. By the time of Decessus' rule, it was almost certain that war would break out sooner or later.

And here Decessus was now, in the Headquarters and the forefront of the war, readying himself to dive into a sea of acid which he had never dreamed could have existed.

What had all his dreams and aspirations for? In the grand scale, would all his achievements, all his bids for the sky, all his long battles against the gravity which bound him amount to nothing at all? Was his rise to the marble halls nothing but an unlucky happenstance, was every great event of his life truly no more than circumstance and coincidence? He tore his eyes from the table and fixed them to the rays of soft sunlight falling in the high windows, but no direction, no ray of illumination would come to him now - Decessus was truly lost.

Then a chilling new thought came to his mind. The rebels were but faulty parts in a regenerative clock. How many countless times had nature scrapped, abandoned, sacrificed species for the sake of the whole? Only death would silence them now, and though none desired to bring it, it would have to be done. Yes, he, the leader of the region, would be bound by duty to shut down recreant movements, for it simply must be done. He shied away from the golden streaks reaching to him as if they injected his mind with nonsense such as this, then looked back in doubt at their malevolence. He had asked for direction, and here it was - an idea, a logic, a path out of his predicament which made perfect sense. And yet, as he passed over the thought with his mind, scanning for its intentions, it seemed to him that this was, in fact, a logic to be left alone. One moment it seemed almost obvious to him, and the next he felt sickened for what he had thought. What fickle path was this, that it flickered and changed itself even as he brooded over it? He was lost in this equilibrium of confusion, and he remained there, neither stationary nor moving.

Suddenly, a call seemed to come to him. It was beyond all logic or morality, beyond any earthly law that governed his alternatives, yet he instantly knew it to be correct. He would fight, he would be at the forefront of the sea of acid, he would do anything at all, if, in some happier time, peace could be restored. The Skarmory strode out of his web of confusion, every footfall a heartbeat of adamant, until he had passed the hall and reached the very topmost turret of the great building. With one great leap, he bounded off and flew southward, glimmering starkly in the sun.

A bizarre sight greeted his view as he neared the battlefield. It was as if the crude armies of the common rebels had withdrawn early from some inexplicable compulsion. The hosts of Decessus' realm were arrayed for battle, but circumstance seemed to hold them back, or perhaps there was nothing to engage them. Within minutes, there was no doubt.

The war had been won.

"Well, then, let me begin..." a familiar voice spoke.

"Smashed straight into a rock wall! It's a wonder you didn't break every fragile bone in your bodies! I can't believe you two! Here I am, worrying for your lives, and you're actually _looking_ for trouble!"

Decessus opened his eyes blearily. What on earth was the Blissey shouting about?

"It'll take months to fix all this damage! What sort of compulsion could have possibly made you to do something so mulish?"

The Skarmory struggled to earth as his senses slowly returned to him. First came a grinding, dull ache that pervaded his very fibre, and then the scent of sterile hospital equipment with a tint of remedial herbs.

After several minutes, he regained the gift of logic, and the strange sounds finally passed his cochlea.

Decessus stared in disbelief as the ramifications of the Blissey, a mother-substituting Mother Athryn, sounded within him. His plan had failed? But... how could it be? The roof of the cavern was the only possible answer, it had always been.

And yet, as his old efficiency returned, acceptance came to him, and the Skarmory began to recalculate. That had been an impulsive move. He had to be completely sure next time, or he would make a mistake he could not afford. Decessus would go back and check every nook and cranny, every letter of the engraving, every atom in the cavern, until he knew perfectly what he had to do. And he would not rest until then.

With this case as an exception.

"Don't you fall asleep on me... Oh, great." The Blissey raised her hands in exasperation and left the room.

Ardis, as it occurred, was admitted into a room three doors down the hallway. By the time Decessus was fit enough to move around, however, the two of them had already begun honing themselves in the exercise grounds outside the hospital, and thus it was there that they met.

As Decessus already knew, they were one at minds concerning the failure.

"I have to admit, sir, that was almost a mistake we couldn't afford, but there's no use crying over spilt milk. The least we could do is rethink."

Though much was planned, the month's time given for their recovery seemed to stretch on for decades, and Decessus found that very little could be done in the seclusion of the hospital, except the lightest of training. It seemed to be that he had been rescued from the cavern a mangled jumble of steel, and it had taken three months to weld his steel exoskeleton back to proper shape, and two more to repair his internal system, in which he had been under intensive care. The day he woke was the day his body had begun the last touches of recovery, and though he felt nothing but a slight weakness, the specialists reassured him that his body was gaining well-earned rest. Decessus' situation was no better than Ardis'; she did not have the armor that the Skarmory possessed, but this was only to her benefit, as bent steel plating only increased the damage, rather than shielding the fragile cells.

Something was different here, however. Perhaps it was a deep instinct, gained over years of training, or perhaps his subconscious had detected some inconsistency somewhere, but Decessus felt the inexplicable suggestion that either the course of events, or the depiction given to him, or even the very essence of the place he was in, did not seem to fit. It was as if the very universe was lying to him. The feeling seemed to rise as he neared the date of his release, and by the eve, the Skarmory was beginning to suspect sheer paranoia. Finally, the day came; it seemed almost an execution date to him.

Decessus was told to wait for a page to call him, but to his extreme annoyance, he waited in vain. After what he saw to be half an hour, he departed to Mother Athryn's office.

For some reson, she was sitting idle by the fireplace. When Decessus walked in, she turned an almost deceptively warm smile to him and said, "Yes, dear?"

"What kind of system do you have, Mother? I was told I would be called long ago."

She looked at him with the air of one amused by the befuddlement of a toddler. "Ah, but you see, you're not leaving."

"What?" Decessus blurted.

_"You're not leaving,"_ she repeated, and this time her voice seemed almost hideously cold. The Blissey turned, and Decessus saw that the egg in her pouch was shining with an eerie white sheen, mirroring the glint in her eyes.

The Skarmory's muscles tensed. "What nonsense are you speaking? I have completely recovered."

"Oh, no, it has nothing to do with that." Crystal walls began to rise all around them, closing the room to the outside. The egg positively radiated white light.

"Mother?" Decessus said, backing away.

She gave him nothing but that odd glint. Without a word, the egg rose from her pouch, glaring crazily across the room.

In a fraction of a second, the egg flew tearing to him, and the Skarmory burst out of the crystal enclosure, narrowly dodging an explosion of pink flame. Eight more eggs were winking at him from every side. Chopping three to pieces before they could explode, Decessus rushed out to the left wing, where Ardis would stay. He had left the eggs behind, for the moment.

"Sir?" she said, surprised, as Decessus burst in.

"No time to explasin, we must move out!"

The shimmer was back in the hallway when they exited. Understanding instantly, Ardis raised her claws.

In three flashes of white, egg shards littered the hallway.

They zoomed up the main stairs, nothing but flashes of silver and white as they dodged two more eggs. Within no time, Decessus was on the roof, Ardis on his back. With another ruffling of steel wings, they were off.

Decessus felt a quake in the very fabric of the universe before he fell to the ground.


	8. Chapter 7

Rediscovery

Book I: First Traces

Chapter 7

A grim veil of smog pervaded the Energy Sector, suppressing the blackened ground and its twisting rivers of blazing vomit with stifling iron-black wool. No harsh sound penetrated the murk; no shocking sight sprung out from the shadows. Rather than betraying its explosive, fiery torment, this corner of the world spoke of despair and grey loss, traces of beauty in the memories within its monochrome foulness.

The Energy Sector was arguably the single most crucial component of Decessus' region. Generating thousands of Voltorbans of electricity every day, it gave power to all of the electronically-based Sectors, and many richer families working for the government. It was the base of the many electronic Sectors, and the very backbone of the relentless pollution maintaining the corruption of the land. Without it, the entire network of computers, one of the few ingenious human inventions, would grind to a halt.

Decessus was well aware of its fundamental position in the community of Sectors, and thus this was where he focused his power. The system of Sectors was painstakingly designed so that no two Sectors depended on another any more than minimally, and the work of one lost Sector could be handled jointly by other Sectors, for sufficient periods of time. The only exception to this was the Energy Sector, and this gave an opportunity to condense security to one point, while providing minimal protection to the rest.

The border of the Energy Sector was guarded by 20-foot steel walls, ornamented with deadly live wire. The sole gate required not a password or a limb-print, but a thorough Psychic scanning of the enterer's mind, to verify his intentions and qualifications. Decessus himself was not excused from the protocol. Five hundred yards of near no-Pokèmon-land lay between the boundaries and the building complex. Inside the building, energy harvesting machinery was protected by decades and decades (and continuously increasing) layers of Barriers, its Psychic energy and purpose rivaling even that of the human experiment, Mewtwo. Shield machinery was placed at nearly every intersection and guards patrolled every corridor, thorough yet efficient in their simple purpose: if the creature is of correct intent and qualification, let it pass; if not… eradicate it.

It was in one such corridor that six conscripted guards sat huddled, fearing for their responsibilities at home and their bleak futures.

"Do you think we might be let off long enough for me to see my family?" a Sandslash murmured, depressed by the cold darkness of their prison.

"Not anytime soon, that's for sure," grunted a massive Lairon, sympathy within in his gruffness. "Your little daughter will have to be strong a while longer."

"Why do they do this to us? What have we ever done to deserve this?" a Baltoy blurted out.

"Power," the Lairon said. "That's what drives the world. That's what gives politicians their kick out of life. That's all he cares about, that crazy, puffed up – "

"Quiet, quiet," mumbled the Sandslash, his eyes darting around as Decessus himself had heard and was coming down to silence the Lairon. "Our lives are screwed enough, already. Don't get someone angry and make them worse."

"You know," a timid-looking Raichu offered; "I once dreamt of leaving this place and going to a better world. 'This hellhole isn't the center of the universe,' my dad always used to say, 'you can do anything you want, go anywhere you want, as long as you have a dream and the material to do it.' I – "

But the others' cynical, disheartened, fearful glares were enough to force his words back.

If they had been on their guard that night, the soldiers would have noticed a pair of cold eyes gleaming from around the bend of the path, fired by a passion to bring forth their wrathful glory. But their low spirits and the near flawlessness of the building was enough to bring them into a sort of dejected, apathetic complacency, and they did not notice even as the great fire in the belly of the owner of those eyes growled in anticipation, and a transparent behemoth formed in front of the corridor, visible only by the refraction of the light passing through it.

In an instant, a mighty blast of fire animated the giant, and the guards turned in alarm to the great monster. Massive forearms heaved along with a wide, angry torso, supported by legs strong enough to crush steel. The nonexistent neck melded along with a savage canine's face, wilder and more violent than the most feral Mightyena.

A veritable nightmare of flame.

The first to give resistance, the mighty Lairon, was swept away with a lunge of the monster's fiery arms. A 5-foot-wide Flamethrower hit the hapless Raichu and Sandslash, singeing their flesh beyond recognition, leaving but charred pieces of skin to tell their tale. The two frigid eyes pulling the puppet's strings were set alight with amusement, like that of a small child with his toy, as, within seconds, nothing was left of the guards but three agonized screams and a bloodcurdling roar of challenge, reverberating off into the night.

Queen Tryst the Ninetales was very pleased.

The first move of the plan was a success.

The giant could cause enough disorder among the soldiers for her to slip by them, but she dared take no chances. Throwing a Quilava's smoke bomb out into the next room, she dodged and wove among the surprised and confused guards, her fire burnt low to a phantom of its strength. Stealth had always been her greatest strength, despite her allegiance and penchant for the fire type, and thus she could move without undue alarm almost instinctually, leaving her to her thoughts.

Logically, her most effective way of harassment was fear, the deadliest poison. Therefore, immediately after Carek assigned her the task, she had begun plans for a series of well-placed illusions, which delivered minimal damage and maximum panic. The first of these would begin in the Energy Sector itself. Not long ago, she had forged a way into the compound for one of her single Psychics, instructing the Claydol to memorize the key points of the Sector so that they could be used as a target for Teleportation. The memories had been spread among the Psychics, and they had Teleported into strategic points during the small interval between a guard unit's dismissal from the area and another's appearance. Working swiftly, they had secured explosive Delibird presents into the points, well hidden, and had fled immediately after. The Queen had also prepared a small team of elite Psychics and trained them to learn a combination move of her own. Two Gardevoir would weave a colossal creature out of Psychic threads, and a fire-type would breathe flame into it, giving it definition and a fearsome appearance. The result of the invention was rampaging around her that very moment, translating flesh into ash and vapour.

After the preparation was the active phase of the plan –

A Rhydon, his face a mangled mess, nearly stampeded into her, breaking her reverie. It was time to begin.

She ducked into a side door and in an open cavern, and what she saw struck awe into her, no matter how many times she had rehearsed it.

Ten fiery titans leered at an army of security protecting the central block, legendary knights set to storm an impregnable fortress. Decessus' forces seemed no more than toys before these twisted puppets, animated by fiery malice. They were all ready for war, awaiting the Queen's signal.

The Ninetales strode up to the forefront of the makeshift battlefield, a wreath of smoke still around her. She simply stood there at first, gazing coolly at the awestruck, terrified, confused soldiers.

Suddenly, the war-chief roared, and her army sprung into action.

The ten behemoths charged at the sea of Pokèmon, the Queen at their forefront. Daggers of animated fire plunged into their defenses like a virus breaching a helpless cell. Mounds of charred bodies lay in their wake, nothing withstanding the immense flame of their perverse vitality. No art or morbid beauty lay within this skirmish; it was merely a massacre of blunt, fiery force, leveling Pokèmon, fifty at a time.

For all intents and purposes, the Queen was indeed the indomitable leader of the attack, but, in fact, she had withdrawn from the battle early on, once the seeds of chaos were laid deep enough to mask her retirement. She was the commander of the army of fear, and it was not her place to do destruction herself, only to give the illusion of it. For now, she focused on directing the giants to the central complex, where the final blow would be delivered.

It was only a matter of time before the monsters gained to the complex and ducked into it. Working now from their demented vision, she gave them one last command, and called for a Psychic to Teleport her out.

Minutes later, the Queen stood watching from the top of a distant cliff, anticipation lighting her canine features. The last phase was about to commence: a silence hung throughout the valley, portent of the catastrophe to come.

Suddenly, a faint BOOM sounded off into the distance, and the centre of the complex rippled like a liquid. The wave of rolling matter hit an indistinct point, and the spot erupted into flame with a great report. The explosion seemed to inspire other presents, and another smoking crater formed to the right, spawning yet another detonation. The chain reaction was slow at first, but it soon picked up speed, roaring and flaring over and over again, each ignition faster and more intense than the last, until, the hellish offspring coming full circle, white-hot fire roared out its agony to the heavens from the centre of the Sector.

The fiery chain of explosions formed the outline of a feral Ninetales, roaring out its challenge to the heavens.

Decessus looked out into the horizon, his keen vision revealing the entirety of the naked land. There was nothing to see: they had woken up long ago to find a wide expanse of sand before them, and their eyes had met no hint to their bearings ever since.

He weighed his choices. The Skarmory was naturally accustomed to the desert; he could easily fly up and scout for landmarks, possibly an oasis, if nothing else. However, the problem lay in Ardis, struggling to stay beside him. He could not leave her behind to die any more than he could impair one of his razor-sharp wings, for she had some invaluable assets. On the other hand, if they continued blindly on for long, the Persian's chances of survival would be next to nothing. They had already trekked for four weeks – mammals could survive without water for three more days, and that without the exertion of a swift marching pace, and the evaporation of a desert sun. Ardis was lucky to have held out this far.

He decided to search for help in the air, and return within the hour. Thirty minutes was a pitifully short time for scouting in a climate like this, but Decessus had the element of nature and his tremendous speed on his hand. Informing Ardis of his decision, he quickly set out.

Ardis pushed on, ignoring her exhaustion. She thought of her long years of battle training, her biggest achievements in the art of war. _All useless,_ she mused bitterly. _Defeated by a ball of fire and a sandbox._

She felt her conviction falling, as her body's last energies began to fail. She was beginning to finish completely, her final defenses stripped away, exposing her to the cruel sun. Her legs refused to move, even as she willed them to, and she stumbled, fell to her side.

Suddenly, two dark figures appeared over the top of the first dune. Hope! A last, desperate shot of energy filled her fibre, and she lifted and propelled herself forward, hurtling drunkenly over the dunes. She pulled as she had never pulled before, dismissing pain as a minor annoyance, reduced to one single motion in the face of desperation. Forward – forward – forward –

Her innermost fire extinguished itself, burnt out completely. She fell forward, darkness overwhelming her…

Decessus powered back, filled with new hope. Within three minutes of flying, he had encountered a gigantic desert city, centered on a miniature sea of an oasis. Landing at the western gates, he had demanded entry from the gatekeeper, using identity as his authority.

"You're certainly not Decessus, Skarmory," the Marowak chuckled, irritatingly amused. "But we'll let you in. That great ball above us is harsh enough to turn anyone into an ally."

Within five minutes, after minimal refreshments, he had set off to bring Ardis, a water pouch slung to one wing and plans half-forming in his mind as to future courses of action. The sooner he escaped this wasteland, the sooner he could resume his obsession and pursuit.

Yet, his instinct seemed to betray some inconsistency. Everything was not going according to plan, but he could not coax further details from his subconscious. It seemed almost as if he was subject to some trick of the mind, yet… some unshakable feeling… He decided to ignore it.

As he approached the area where he had left her, he sensed a small, lonely lump of pale yellow sprawled on the ground. As he circled around the oddity, his suspicions began to solidify, and an increasing feeling of disappointment rose up within him. Ardis, his most useful assistant in war, was dead.

He put his blade to her side, his keen senses singling out the state of affairs by the minuscule processes still carrying on inside her. Her heart had stopped, but cell necrosis had not yet reached an irreparable stage. By improvised medical techniques, she could still be recovered.

Acting by the lightning speed for which he was known, he zoomed back to the town to acquire an odd variety of sled designed for the sand, informing the gatekeeper about his "nearly dead partner", and ran off to collect her.

As Decessus lugged the sand-sled back to the gates, the guard made a very odd remark.

"What happened, Skarmory? Couldn't find your partner?"

"Of course I found her," Decessus replied, nonplussed. "She is behind me right now." He turned to motion to Ardis.

The sled was empty.


	9. Chapter 8

Rediscovery

Book I: First Traces

Chapter 8

Decessus gazed into the cool oasis water, scrutinizing the unfamiliar face that glared back. His self-analysis was sufficiently simple: repeatedly jarring his rational barriers had deepened its usually insignificant cracks, allowing emotion to seep through. The cause was simply failing to remember to strengthen them. The solution, therefore, was to resume.

Sinking into his inner thoughts, he called his jagged emotions into attention. Immediately, a wary, hunted insecurity presented itself to him. It feared for some great change, or rather a storm after the calm, imminent and inevitable, catastrophic, sure to divert his path in wild magnitudes…

Though he did not understand it fully, the Skarmory curbed this edge amply, beating it down with rational thought. It was likely a worthless hunch, reacting to some long-gone suggestion more vigorously than was logical or safe, and somehow challenging Decessus' command over his psyche. Dangerous if unchecked, no doubt; for as soon as it submitted to his will, the cool silence of reason returned to him, such as he had not felt since the Sableye first reported their success to him. That blunder of intuition had subdued all other feeling, monopolizing his assembly of rebel emotion. With time, it was likely capable of more.

Decessus opened his eyes, and saw a different world; a perfect pattern of cause and effect, clearly delineated, distorted by no worthless passion. He turned to the matter at hand: Ardis. If the Persian had truly died, her body would have been found immediately. Her sudden disappearance suggested other plans in store for her. Indeed, if she had been brought with Decessus to this strange land by the puzzle in the Imperia cavern (for so was the likeliest explanation), her purpose here was nearly, if not precisely, as meaningful as the Skarmory's. Thus, he would leave her to her own fate for a while, and proceed with his first logical task: finding his bearings.

He had questioned the locals, but their dialect used different names from anything the Skarmory had seen, marveling at Decessus' ignorance of the word Enecca, or even Crearta. Nark was a province to them, and Narkesa, apparently, its leader. The Skarmory had scarce enough information to suppose the minutest assumption; it was wiser to head towards the nearest significant city known to the locals, and evaluate his position from that city's information. And so he was headed southeast, to what seemed to be the capital of this province.

Falling into a nearby thermal, Decessus lifted from the side of the tiny oasis he had found, and cut into the air like a swinging rapier, brilliant spikes of reflected light scattering over the sand beneath him. He allowed himself a trace of adrenaline, absorbing himself ever so slightly into his flight. Here lay his element, infused within the molten sands under the unforgiving furnace of the sun; here alone did survival of the fittest take its true form, firing the stony desert-creatures to their prime. The glory of the sun, focused and augmented in a thousand ways, was the only light to break his dark mechanisms, and it complemented his power, never clouding his thought or action.

Certain levels of aridity, Decessus had found, triggered evolutionary advantages in those inclined to deserts. For example, here, where temperature prevailed over all other factors, the Skarmory had suddenly developed an instinct for heat, an intuitive addition to his vision which picked up frequencies of what humans called infrared, alerting him to such points of interest as heat thermals, nearby creatures, and throwing aside any visual stealth techniques. Immediately before him was a constant sea of heat, manifesting more as concept than color, but, as he scanned over the sandy wastes, his eyes chanced upon a spot of coolness twenty yards ahead. Decessus spiraled down towards it.

To all appearances, there was nothing extraordinary about his two-foot-square stretch of sand, and any unwary creature would pass over it without thought. Yet, there was undoubtedly some large, unusually cool object buried underneath the sand, and Decessus was drawn to it, with an attraction which would not lie for long. Humoring his whim, the Skarmory dug into the sand above it and soon hit metal. It was a square platform of steel, humming slightly; Decessus instantly recognized it to be a heat switch, an extremity of a system which registered extreme heat (more, indeed, than the heat of desert sand, but approximate to the heat of a fire attack), and effected a change in the system at its encounter. It was often used as an alternate way to open closed doors; coming in great urgency, the Pokèmon would simply fire an attack at a heat switch near a gateway, and thus open it without inconvenience. Intrigued, the steel avian flew up and hit it with a speeding Golden Star, the unavoidable five-pointed star of energy which usually came in hordes of five.

Instantly, the sand all around him became deathly cold.

Startled, the Skarmory zoomed up, attempting to divine the limits of this patch of temperature. An enormous equilateral triangle, half a mile on each side, stretched out before him, with three more buried heat switches in the center of each of its triangular corners. Decessus quickly worked to uncover and trigger the mechanisms, and the one whole triangle was divided into four: a central, frigid patch with its base pointing relatively upside down, and three slightly warmer ones, each sharing one side with the central. The puzzle seemed not to give one much time to contemplate it: with a shuddering start, the sand of the secondary triangles began lifting and overflowing to the sides, as hidden platforms rose to the surface.

Swooping down to examine them, Decessus could gauge little of their function. They showed a hyperconductivity to heat; indeed, as Decessus lay his sun-warmed talons into one of the platforms, the steel below him rapidly became hotter than his own metal, suggesting that it picked up outside heat and amplified it. However, it was certainly not a heat switch because of this property. The Skarmory walked paces, testing its response to pressure, and was about to introduce it to focused light before a peculiar trait revealed itself to him: his own footsteps, slightly darkening the metal, faded back from where he had come.

This was an intriguing development, and yet it opened more doors than it closed. The platforms were obviously a form of drawing pad, on which required symbols or shapes could be inscribed in heat. However, the number of possible passwords could easily stretch to infinity. Decessus' one chance lay in finding some pattern and using it to decipher the solution. But what could it be? He zoomed up, yet again, attempting to impress the full extents of the symbol firmly in his mind.

Three triangles, each coming corner to corner to form another, larger triangle. On each of the triangles, more triangles could be drawn –

Triangles? The Skarmory had intended to say "symbols" in his mind, not triangles. It was likely a subconscious slip, an accidental replacement of a word with one in particular significance to the subconscious. Most such slips had little meaning to the conscious mind, but it was likely that this could assist him with the situation. If more triangles were drawn onto the existing figures, the logical shape to come would be another of those symbols –

And then the solution hit his unusually slow mind. Here was a Cyramene, a universal symbol revered by Grass-types in every large forest-settlement around the world. A main triangle consisted of three smaller triangles, each of which were divided into three more figures, to the result that the whole could be divided into many smaller divisions, equal in shape but not scale to the whole. The figure combined the Grass-type's two greatest concepts; the pattern of triangles, so often seen in type advantages, and cosmography of the microcosm, stating that every part of the universe was approximate to the whole. He found it strange that such a symbol would have importance in a desert.

Sprawled before Decessus was an unfinished version of the Cyramene, in which the primary triangle had been divided into secondary parts, but the secondary had not been made into tertiary figures. It was a simple task to draw the required lines and form the whole figure, thus unlocking the puzzle and opening whatsoever lay inside. Working with great skill and precision, the Skarmory loosed a concentrated volley of Golden Stars, forming razor-straight lines of darkened metal over the platform, and raising his angle of firing gradually to form a neat dotted line. Within a manner of minutes, the triangle was finished in all its detail.

In a sudden jerk, the very first heat switch, forming the original triangle, expanded on invisible flaps and opened in the middle, creating a horizontal door in the earth, framed with a dike of sand. Without a moment's hesitation, the Skarmory plunged into its surface.

Within lay a moderately-sized entrance room made of limestone slab, deserted, from all appearances. There was little remarkable about this room, a thoroughly Spartan, bare installment, which raised the Skarmory's respect for its owners, and yet key points of it were unplanned, despite the apparent military efficiency of the place. What caught the majority of Decessus' interest, however, was hovering in the center of the room.

"Trial" was the legend of another of Carek's picture cards, describing a portrait of a lone tree upon a lone island amidst raging seas. The gigantic waves nearly overtopped the tree in height, surrounding it with walls of black foam, and it would have seemed that this final battlement was all but conquered, yet there was a sense of new power within the young tree, holding the waves at bay at the last moment. Trial indeed had come, and trial, evidently, had been passed.

The picture card fell to the earthen floor, landing face-side down to reveal its last inscription. In a somewhat ornate, careful hand, the Shapeshifter had written another message:

"Amidst great opportunity awaits great peril. Do all lose themselves in the alluring mirage of power? Wisdom has little hope within youth."

Queen Tryst presided over the pawns assembled on the board, lit from underneath by their heated glow.

A briefing table was laid in front of her, painted with a detailed map of New Orre, depicting nearly every one of its regions and territories. Four balls of flame hovered at certain positions on the board, each with a colour of its own: dark amethyst, flaming crimson, illuminating gold, and pale, wispy gray, each representing a section of the Queen's armies. Their combined light cast an insane, hellish glow around the cave which Queen Tryst had stopped in, diffusing in the canine's features to produce a striking resemblance to a madman.

It seemed that fire animated with Psychic energy was more versatile than one would suppose. Indeed, the fireballs before her were manifestations of that very material, their characteristics the byproduct of changing the nature of the thought which sustained them. If they were set on the table's surface and moved to another location on the map, they would leave a trail of oddly-coloured soot in their wake, effectively recording their movements for future contemplation. It was a simple device, but easily set up and packed, and effective when rigged directly to the current positions of armies, automatically updating the board every half an hour.

Four teams were assembled before her, Stealth, Fear, Intelligence, and Force, each with their own duties; to move unseen by enemies; to conjure grand trickeries of fear, poisoning the ranks with venom greater than any physical concoction; to infiltrate the enemy's forces, reporting key fragments of information back to the other armies; to carry out the few demonstrations of physical strength, sustaining the illusion of intimidation. Each of them had emerged from rally points at strategic places around the region, and each of them were finally prepared for war.

The challenge had been sounded at the burning of the Energy Sector, and Decessus would respond immediately, striking hard and swift. It was the Queen's duty to hold her own with his power, maneuvering the Hammer of Death into weakness, preparing him for Carek's devices. By assaulting the beleaguered towns of the desert foremost, she would remind him of the lowliness of his people, pushing him into despair, breaking his resolve, as Carek had proposed to do. And then, once her task was complete, she would collect her bounty and live in grander heights than ever before.

With a surge of adrenaline, the Ninetales ordered her armies into motion.

The war had begun.

Deep within the defiled sands of Decessus' kingdom, a lone Gastly fought his way to an encampment behind a knotted ridge. It was one of the scouts of Intelligence team, reporting back with his findings. From his rapidly pulsating aura, and the energy with which he picked his way among the erratic winds, it was clear that here was a scout with a message to relay, more extraordinary than any it had seen before.

"Maken! Maken!" he called, summoning his Haunter supervisor in a flash. "You won't believe what my team found! We were doing a standard patrol around the eastern plains of the kingdom, when we finds a village, just off the outskirts of city B. [iNothing special, eh?[/i I thinks, trying to remember how many tiny settlements we've found along the wastes. But get this: when we approach it, some o' the weirdest sounds of battle start coming out of it. It looks like there's a [itraining camp[/i going on inside it (as in for war), and we're the first ones to find it. What would a training camp be doing in the smallest village in existence? You know Decessus only makes his soldiers in the biggest barracks he can find."

Maken recoiled from surprise, flaring purple. "So what, you're saying something else is getting them to train like that?"

"Well, we went inside, did some research. Turns out they were planning to revolt against the empire. They were fired up for quite a while now, but it was only a few weeks ago that one of them got appointed as the general and rallied all the villagers.

"We went to the general next, an' he said he answered to another general. Gave that one a visit and he said the same thing. Eventually we got fed up of hopping between generals and just called for som'un who knew the chain o' command, and the old Furret took his merry sweet time getting found and then coming 'a us. Meanwhile, we checked the countryside."

"And what did you find?"

"We noticed that every village near us with a training camp had some very strange wind surrounding it. Kinda like that razor wind that hit the kingdom a while ago, except here it didn't hurt, much. Still, if the rumours are true and both winds are manifestations of nature hersel', it looks like quite a few big shots are conspiring agins Decessus. But the juiciest part?

"When the Furret finally decided to show up, we found that it was Carek who was rallying all of them. _Carek,_ the one who made the deal with Her majesty in the first place. And it looks a lot like Carek got Mother Nature to ravage the place, too. This is getting bigger than we thought i' was."

"Come with me," the Haunter ordered; "we need to report this to the Queen Tryst. Fast."


	10. Chapter 9

Rediscovery

Book I: First Traces

Finale: The Levees are Breaking

Decessus the Skarmory moved quietly through the lonely halls of his new discovery, gliding through the gloom as he did for the air in flight. There was no doubt that the strange establishment was yet fully functional, for the ghosts of life still rebounded across the acoustic walls from deep within the complex, and reached Decessus with a distant certainty. It was strange, then, why no alarm had been raised on the entry of an unexpected visitor. It was very unlikely that such a community would lack the utmost military procedure; a hard, Spartan life would be mandatory for survival in these deserts. The Skarmory tightened his guard, realizing the likelihood of a trap.

Suddenly, the vague echoes all around Decessus coalesced into a series of definite, iron-shod footsteps, concentrating into a sonorous CLANK, then scattering, then reforming, in a steady, slow rhythm. For the slightest of moments, it seemed to originate from somewhere in the corridor to his right; but then a duplicate rebounded from the left, and, before any reaction could be made, a positive legion of footsteps echoed from every direction possible, so that it was impossible to divine the source or even the quantity of the steps. Nearly bewildered, the Skarmory began moving swiftly, turning a corner, plunging into an open door and a gigantic hall to find –

"Ardis."

Decssus was faintly surprised.

"Thank the gods I found you, sir, I was going to issue a region-wide sweep before you stumbled on here." The Persian wore a light shirt-like contraption, with a flexible Barrier plastered to its contour – barrier mail, to be precise – and a strange headset, made of some unrecognizable metal and fashioned to resemble the top half of a Cubone skull.

"How?" Decessus simply questioned, but Ardis was already beginning.

"Well, it seemed my endurance just had to give minutes before you flew out of sight. I tried to walk for a while, but then – you know what it's like with mammals, sir. I thought I saw some people coming over the sand dune in front of me. And then, I found myself in the middle of this base. They didn't recognize me, so I managed to pass myself off as someone sympathetic to their cause – no idea then what it was, but they apparently believed in it very strongly. It was only when they were finally convinced and started introducing me to their base that I realized how much danger I was in, how much you likely are in right now. This desert is almost certainly the desert of Narkesa, and this base is their main frontier for warring against you and your kingdom.

"Of course, I got to work immediately. Gained some huge favour with them in a matter of weeks, got a high-clearance rank, and began digging up everything I could that could mean intelligence to us."

"A military base against the kingdom? I was not aware the Marowak were this organized. How is it that I can stand here unmolested, however?" The Skarmory was eternally amused by the lengths others would stretch for their useless value of loyalty. Somewhat repulsed, but mainly amused, and often benefited.

"That was a rather difficult maneuver, what with the regulations around here, but I tipped someone to make a false declaration of a messenger who had come exclusively for _Skelarc_ Narkesa's eyes and ears. It was all anonymous, so he'll just look like a wanton troublemaker and get a few demerits, and I can easily edit the records before that dust settles so that it looks like no one entered the base. It's amazing how much they trust a good warrior; I wouldn't be surprised if all the reason for their hate against the kingdom came from your pacifist days, when you tried to suppress war.

"Come back to my quarters, sir, before someone realizes I've been gone. We're going to have to find a way to hide you. The information I found doesn't look like it'll let us leave for a while now."

As the Skarmory and his assistant picked their way through the grid of corridors, the mood of the inner complex began impressing itself in subtle ways. The rough, forbidding sandstone walls smoothened very gradually to a mellower tone and texture, and the crude torches, dimly lighting the entrance halls, were replaced by simple, warm lamps, not cozy enough to give one the impression of comfort, but still managing to skirt the boundaries of palpable depression – close as they may have come to it. As Decessus and Ardis drove through layers of the base enclosing different sections and varying purposes, all momentarily deserted, the residential areas even accepted small articles of ornamentation: tiny, half-hidden statues, or subtle carvings in the walls. Out of all of New Orre, perhaps only Decessus' kingdom had managed to eschew all frivolous traces of culture.

At the end of a fairly long journey lay a set of living quarters somewhat larger than those neighbouring it. It carried the basic needs for a soldier's lifestyle along with a central living room, containing a motley array of official papers, captain's gear, and (Decessus noticed with mild surprise) a small workstation after the fashion of the lesser computers in the Skarmory's own headquarters. It was apparent that a large project had been in full flow when the Persian was interrupted.

Ardis began almost as soon as they had entered the room.

"I have reason to believe an arrangement of a very explosive nature is being devised by the Marowak against the kingdom, whose consequences may cover up to three-fourths of our geographical region – yes, it's very physical and very large-scale. I don't have clearance yet, so I can't be in on the gist of it, but I'm almost there, and the idiots who keep charge of secrecy in the complex are leaking parts of it to raise what they think is my motivation to work and be promoted. On that table lies all the information they provided me, along with some of my own spying – not much, but sufficient, I think."

Decessus focused onto the indicated desk, where a large array of papers was strewn across with apparently no order. Most obviously, the desert organization was spending unusual amounts of effort and detail into the river system of New Orre, particularly near the coast – plans for the construction of dams, dikes, artificial canyons, rerouting devices of every type and magnitude, had been recorded. With a casual look, it was impossible to discern the purpose of this work.

"I've tried to work out the exact geographic positions of all this jumble, but I haven't had much success – most of these papers are records of the material needed to make the dams, with the vaguest of directions, and the rest is written in a Narkesian system that I can't decipher for the life of me. The thing is, there are all these plans and blueprints for diverting water, but nothing has been constructed out there – or will be constructed – that the water could be diverted to. No giant facilities, no newly founded cities, not even agricultural structures, unlikely though they may be. They seem to be moving around water for the sole purpose of moving around water."

Decessus remained silent for a moment, analyzing her information. Wild ideas flitted in and out of his mind, dismissed minutes after their creation – preposterous, how could that be remotely possible – but, as the Skarmory looked out at the dearth of possibility and fact around him, he was forced to accept the possibility. He suddenly raised his voice:

"Why must you look only inland? Perhaps there is something in the water which they are planning to release."

Ardis was very surprised, and indicated this. "But what on earth would the Narks have to do with the ocean? They hate it. It's a bit of a long shot to think they're turning to it for military support."

"If all other possibilities are eliminated, the last, however strange, must be true," the Skarmory simply replied.

"But – "she began, and then suddenly paused, sidetracked by another thought. "Hang on, there is an Oceanic Meteorology Department in some corner of the complex. No one knows what its purpose is, because it's hardly ever active, but could it be…"

A moment later the two were filing through the contents of the apparently ever-deserted Department of Oceanic Meteorology, sifting for clues.

It was not long before Ardis spotted a file of interest. Numerous maps and statistics pages lay inside it, all revolving around strange, localized hurricanes which were predicted to hover around the coast within a month. The scope of the Nark's predictions reached up to 3.6 weeks into the future, but it was not difficult for Decessus and Ardis, with their vast education, to calculate the rough positions of the hurricanes, and some of their statistics, for the rest of the month, which they promptly bent down to do.

The result left Decessus' head spinning.

In a droning street of a droning city in Decessus' droning wastes, an old Furret-ghost leaned against a dilapidated building, invisible among the mass of faded life lumbering through its eternal tedium. The Furrret's eyes were closed, his chest heaving, but a peculiar smile lingered in his features, and murmured nothings would occasionally escape from his half-open mouth.

Carek was very amused. Here he was, not more than twenty miles from his enemy's den in the Sectors, hiding in plain sight! Perhaps the old Shapeshifter sayings were more than hot air, after all. "To hide a tree, use a forest; to hide a Pokèmon, use a crowd," thus ran one of their most common proverbs, and thus ran a truth few would ever notice. He considered testing more of their ancient sayings in practicality. There cold be gems hidden in the meanest of doggerel, this was undeniable.

Emerging from idle thought, Carek began work, summoning the lust of vengeance, allowing it warily to fill his mind, meticulously finding the balance between keeping it at hand and yet barring it from conquering him, and finally, digging into it, understanding without adopting, until a dank, stone staircase spiraled down before him into the foggy depths. A flash, and a silvery Umbreon was gliding down it at breakneck speed, trailing broken spirals of light from the rings on its form. As the fog surrounding the shadow probed at him with nonexistent fingers, clearing and swirling into order as the Shapeshifter's impregnability impressed itself upon it, a door emerged from the gloom beneath him a single flight of steps below, exhaling a cold deathly light. The Umbreon plunged into its forbidding depths.

A black valley stretched around the figure, its charred ground lit with gargantuan raging flames. A blanket of stifling hatred lay thick over the land, and only a cold mockery of moonlight could surpass the dark labyrinth of loathing, its cold, insensitive fingers bringing no life at all to the tormented earth. This land was not merely ruled by anger, it was anger, the quintessence of every dark passion to infest a ruined heart, and it had taken all of Carek's self-restraint to enter it and not be driven into madness. A fitting place for the nature of the tryst to form within it.

For before the illusory Umbreon were arrayed four figures, starkly contrasting in their appearance, yet lit with the same blaze of anticipation. A looming form dominated the gathering, a jet-black Venusaur with brilliant red streaks across her body, glowing with a fearsome inner flame, the same which transformed her withered vegetation to a roaring inferno of passion. An aura around her suggested divine supremacy, as that of a goddess among mortals, and yet it was doubtless that this was but a part of a greater whole, formidable in its might, and yet lacking in true immensity. Even so, her power was grossly unmatched by the warrior Marowak to her right, despite the chieftain's mastery of a redoubtable, silver-lined bone, and the common Raticate to his right. Only at her other side hovered a figure yet holding its own with the Venusaur's might; a brilliant, airborne silhouette of light, its radiance coaxing a reflection from even the abysmal black of its antithesis' scales. It was this creature who spoke first, as Carek entered the room.

"Has all the assembly arrived?" it spoke, seemingly with the feminine voice of life itself, of wisdom and youth combined. She floated to the center of the assembly. "Let us commence, then. We will not be going into much detail today, but merely affirming our positions and beginning our war in earnest. Marowak…"

"Are your armies prepared?" Carek finished, half in perfect synchrony, yet half as if competing for the leadership of the tryst. He advanced to the side of the glowing figure, his darkness unfazed, somehow, by her dazzling light. "What is their extent?"

"All our mustering, a formidable number," the Marowak replied. "Twenty thousand fully told, though the Nark province and its allies – the desert of Crearta – are not completely united. Still, our differences shall scarce survive in the face of common hatred. As for the devices, they have been newly restored from their destruction."

The Shapeshifter's luminous rings began pulsating with greater agitation. "Brilliant. Your prior machinations against Decessus shall not fail you in this purpose, though they were thwarted before. Grand creations they were – "

"You must not be carried away, though your mechanisms are honest tools of war," the most dazzling of the meeting interjected, cutting across Carek's excited voice. There was undeniably a rivalry between these two heads. "All our parts are, at least by some degree, façade. The true reward lies beyond open war."

The (somewhat) chastised Umbreon turned to the Raticate. "And you? What is the might of the peasants?"

"Our minutemen may not be epic fighters, but they are stocky, and numerous. Rough fates saw to their hardiness." A cold seemed to set in the Raticate's eyes, and he was elevated, be it for a moment, to the level of the grim chieftains around him. "Twenty-five thousand, scattered across our villages and towns. Countless spies, sabotaging the militaries of Decessus. Our dear ruler shall know what it means to have his legs cut out from under him, precisely when he needs them most."

"And, last and greatest," Carek flourished, almost serpent-tongued, "Mistress Vengeance." The Venusaur inclined her mighty head.

"Do you still comply with the arrangements? Shall you still deign to use discretion and wrath as has been planned?" Even Carek's rival admitted to a species of cautious deference.

Pride seemed to pervert the Mistress' yet-dignified features. "Never do I admit to another's order, and my heart burns to decline. However…" An internal struggle seemed to rise to the surface, accompanied by a flare of her withered leaves, but at last it was subdued. "It is not my place to attempt to defy rationality. I shall do as you say, but only as long as your commands work with such logic and efficacy as they do now."

"Then let the official assembly conclude," Carek announced, his relief a precise blend of satire and formality. "Are you sure you don't want to join in the fun?" directed he to his apparent rival, the burden of procedure lifted from the tryst.

"I do not delight in destruction of any kind, Carek, and I never will," was her reply. "You, on the other hand, must exercise caution in your labour. Kill only as is necessary, never – "

" – destroy anything irreparably, never endanger my own assets unless there is no other way…" finished the bored Shapeshifter; "If you say so, but I've already memorized your list. Anyway…"

As the shadow and the light conversed upon their strange bond, the latter busied a plane of her mind towards capturing fragments of conference between the Marowak and the Mistress. While Carek's grand scheme was not hidden from her, she took no interest in its vicious details; even then, likely due to influence from Carek, the creature had taken it as an idle goal to glean something of his machinations from various sources.

" – Brilliant," the low, accented voice of the Marowak boomed. "The previous – failed, but – assure you, Mistress, it shall – again." A deliberate weakening of her hearing, allowing the strange creature to gather as little of the planned destruction as possible, reduced sentences at this range to patchy collections of words.

" – course, why else would – with mortals? Decess… – sending unwanted – for a long time now. I must return – and what bet… to do –?" The Mistress seemed equally pleased.

"But why do you worry so much," Carek flourished before the listener, "my dear friend and moderator? Between the two of us, Mistress Vengeance does answer to someone, despite what she keeps boasting about. She's only a piece of the greater whole of Nature (Anger, to be specific), and Nature, of course, never lets her destroy things… much."

"I certainly know that, but I'm not sure if it's the Mistress I am worried about. You rarely wish to answer to me, Carek, and you are hardly ignorant of the fact."

As the Shapeshifter laughed, the Mistress seemed to begin a soliloquy, and her eavesdropper admitted to improving her hearing in a small increment.

"My prior havoc was but my knocking on their door, and the massacres inconsequential before the destruction I plan. 'My sectors are unharmed, and I am quite safe here,' does the emperor say? His pride and his vanity shall evaporate as his people did, unguarded by his might, betrayed without a second thought. And just as his poison is forcing its way through my [our veins as I speak, he shall find himself drowning in venoms greater than he could ever fashion, or even comprehend. The might of Mistress Vengeance knows no moderation!"

Carek struck a nearby stone to call the assembly in order. A deep boom shook the valley, and the leader of the rally of Vengeance announced, with all the authority of Fate itself:

"Set your armies into motion and let loose your floods! Let only the rules of the tryst bind you! The war has begun."

Ω/\/\/\∆/\/\/\/ \Ω  
FIN


End file.
